In the Gingerbread House with Candyman
by Nomi001
Summary: A Horror Mystery I hope to complete by Halloween... Season One Completed... Summary: When both his sons went missing, Fenton found himself in a race against time to find them before a horrifying past repeats itself.
1. Prologue

**I watched the Brothers Grimm - yeah Matt Damon is a fave actor of mine - then I had a dream... and here's a story that I hope to complete by Halloween. It's a horror mystery that I hope you'll enjoy. Please comment ... anyone know anything about the song candyman pls pls message me? been trying to find it ... thanks, and please review and comment. I had no proof reader for this story, so editing comments also much appreciated. Thanks again.**

** Thanks to whitetigers for the complete lyrics, I owed you one! **

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**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

PROLOGUE

Strains of a sweet melody filled the quiet air. Soon, a voice and the lyrics of an old song merged with the tune, and the music sang…

_Oh, who can take tomorrow?_

_Dip it in a dream_

_Separate the sorrow_

_And collect up all the cream?_

_The Candyman,_

_Oh the Candyman can,_

_The Candyman can_

_'Cause he mixes it with love_

_And makes the world tastegood_

(An eerie break in the music of total, absolute silence, then the music continues.)

_And the world tastes good 'cause_

_The Candyman thinks it should…_

As the strains of the music died away, an empty hollow laughter echoed down the sweet walls of the Gingerbread House. And in the Gingerbread House, the trapped inhabitants shivered in fear. It'd started again.

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**Note: The Candy Man**, Song and Lyrics by Sammy Davis Jr.

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	2. Something Sweet this Way Comes

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 1

SOMETHING SWEET THIS WAY COMES

Alone in a house located on the corner of Elm and High Streets, an anxious mother tried to distract herself by cooking a scrumptious gourmet dinner for her family. Every so often, she would glance at the clock set high on the kitchen wall. And with each glance, she grew more and more nervous. It was already past five in the evening. She couldn't help but feel a tiny tendril of fear slowly growing and wrapping itself around her heart.

_'Nothing happened_,' she told herself sternly.

Her mind refused to cooperate. '_Something's gone wrong_!' her gut instinct wailed.

She willfully forced back an impending panic attack. She had to stay strong. Her family needed her. She knew her husband and eldest were working around the clock and doing all they could. They needed her support; to believe in them, and have faith that they would solve the mystery surrounding the disappearance of her youngest just over a week back. The only clue left behind was half a piece of a gingerbread man. Whatever was that supposed to mean? And they could not even be certain if it was a clue, or a contamination of the crime scene!

Her heart started racing again and she reached out for her favorite family photo sitting proudly in its Bohemien Crystal frame for comfort. It showed the four of them engaged in a pillow fight in their cozy living room. The mother smiled a little at that memory. She and her husband was having a little private snuggle time when their sons sneaked up on them and started pounding them with pillows. And Vanessa, her younger son's girlfriend, had taken the opportunity to take a snapshot of that crazy scene when one of the pillows burst at its seams and rained feathers all over the living room. That picture captured for eternity one of the happiest, craziest, childish moment of her adult and family life. Sporty and feisty, Vanessa was a good match for her hyperactive outgoing baby. And Callie complemented her elder's seriousness with her wit and easygoing manner. Both Callie and Vanessa had called or stopped by daily not only to check for news on Joe, but also to make sure she was coping. Yes, both her sons had chosen well.

She reached out with her fingers to lightly trace her baby's features on the photograph. First she touched wavy golden locks that he inherited from her, letting it slowly slide down to his smiling face. For the merest second, she felt an inexplicable fear that this time was different, that she would never see her son's sparkling blue eyes smiling back at her again, that she would never again hear him laugh or crack another joke…

_But they would find him!_ She thought fiercely. They would find her baby. It was just a matter of time. Her husband had yet to fail her, and her eldest was almost equally skilled. All she had to do was to believe and to trust.

But that was so hard! The seconds crawled by. Her mind conjured up all sorts of horrors that her youngest could be going through, and those tortured her heart, even as her heart wanted to believe and to trust. If only she could be out there searching for her son rather than staying at home! She felt so helpless, and so useless. Her son, her flesh and blood was taken from her; she was powerless to prevent it and totally dependent on others to find him. The tiny tendril grew into tendrils laced with sharp little spikes, and tightened themselves about her heart. She let her son down. If anything was to happen to him, it was her failure as a mother to keep him safe.

The fear and self-recrimination grew. The sense of powerlessness suddenly overwhelmed her. She had to gasp for breath. She could not breathe!

The mother fought hard against herself. Calm, she had to stay calm! Now breathe; inhale, exhale. And again; inhale, exhale. It took a long while for her to regain control of her fear. She looked at the clock again. That was a mistake. Her eldest was not back yet! The recently subdued fear returned with a vengeance, and crashed through her recently constructed defenses as if they were paper. It threatened to overwhelm her. Panic bred desperation and gave rise to anger. She turned her newly risen wrath on her absent eldest.

_'Frank should be home by now_,' she fumed silently. _'Doesn't he know that we will worry?! When did he become so irresponsible?!' _

Just as quickly, her anger dissipated. Her eldest had always been disciplined and responsible. She felt a little guilty for thinking otherwise. At that reminder, she felt her mother's instinct screaming at her again. This time, she managed it better, and the terror receded. Another quick glance at the kitchen clock said six pm. Frank really should have been home an hour ago.

She bit her lip in frustration and reached for her cell phone. Her eldest turned eighteen recently, and she really should not be mothering him overly. She paused. And hemmed, and hawed. Finally, she flipped open her cell and pressed the number. Frank would understand her anxiety, given the current situation. She waited for Frank to pick up the phone.

The doorbell rang.

She froze for an instant. The cell phone slipped from her suddenly weak hands, and dropped onto the floor. The sound it hitting the vinyl kitchen floor startled her back to awareness. She moved.

It was her house, but it felt like she was in someone else's house as she forced herself down the hallway to the door. Her heart was beating so fast and so hard, she thought it might burst. The earlier feeling of terror returned. She knew without doubt she would not like whatever that was on the other side of the door. But she had to know.

'_Maybe Frank forgot his keys,'_ She knew as soon as the thoughts formed that she was deluding herself.

She opened the door. It was Police Chief Ezra Collig and Officer Con Riley. They were close family friends. Her heart almost stopped. But somehow she managed to find strength to hang on. She had to know.

_'Maybe they found some leads to Joe,'_ she thought again bleakly, and knew she was lying to herself. She was terrified and she was desperate.

"Laura, is Frank home yet?" Ezra enquired in a gentle tone.

"No," she said, and was proud of the fact that her voice sounded normal.

Laura tightened her grip on the doorframe. She noted both Ezra and Con giving each other an uneasy glance. That boded ill.

"Tell me!" Laura demanded of both Ezra and Con.

Ezra fidgeted a little before responding, "Laura, maybe we should wait for Fenton to get home…"

Then Laura noticed a little evidence bag in Con's hand. With a move too fast for Con to react, she grabbed it, and saw.

It was a half of a gingerbread man. It was the top half this time. And the sugar frosting smile on the face mocked at her. The gingerbread man was a cookie to light up the features of any child. Yet it was such an ominous little sweet to her now. She had no doubt this half a piece matched the bottom half that was left behind when Joe went missing.

"No…" she whispered.

Dark spots appeared before her, and grew until total darkness claimed her. She wobbled unsteadily on her feet. As she fell, she could feel Ezra's strong hands reaching out to catch her. Then she knew no more.

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	3. The Candyman

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 2

THE CANDYMAN

"Fenton… Fenton…" A familiar voice prompted him.

He opened his bloodshot eyes. It took a moment to focus on the man standing before him. It was Henry Kennett; the FBI agent in charge of Frank's kidnapping case, and also Joe's. He looked at the living room clock. It said 9pm. They had been waiting for the last 72 hours, but no one had contacted them. Just like in Joe's case.

"No one made contact," Henry said gently. "It's been 72 hours, Fenton. We have to pack up. You know the protocol."

Fenton stared uncomprehendingly at Henry. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other three agents packing up all the gadgetry. But he could not find the strength to process the information and understand its meanings. He was too tired. He could not remember when he last slept, or eaten, for the matter.

Suddenly, there was a steaming hot cup of thick filtered coffee in his hands. He took a gulp and burnt his throat. He winced in pain. He turned and saw Sam. Good old trusty Sam Radley. Fenton smiled a little smile. It was all he could manage. He could always depend on Sam, his partner, to do the necessary things. Re-energized by the coffee, he forced his thoughts back to the present. Both his sons were missing; Joe for a eleven days, and Frank for three days. No contact was made, no ransom demanded. There were no clues, except for two halves of a gingerbread man. And he had no idea what that was suppose to mean. What was the message that he was supposed to decipher?

No, Fenton amended. They had some small details. It might seem inconsequential now, but might become an important link later when combined with other findings.

Joe never came home from school, and later his driver's license was found atop his motorbike in the school car park together with the bottom half of a gingerbread man. Frank was running some errands at the bank for Laura when he went missing. The boys' van was found abandoned along Shore Road. Frank's driver's license was left on the driver's seat, together with the top half of the gingerbread man.

There had been no signs of struggle, there were no fingerprints, and there were no witnesses. Fenton found the absence of any signs of struggles disturbing, for he was sure neither Frank nor Joe would simply let themselves be taken without a fight. And while neither exactly vanished in broad daylight, it was not under the dark cover of night either. He thought the lack of witnesses to both incidents … _uncanny_, since neither the school car park nor Shore Road could be termed isolated in the late afternoon.

"Fenton, if you could come down to the FBI office tomorrow, maybe we can go over what we have, and try to create a potential list of suspects…" Henry was saying to him.

The voice was sympathetic, the tone gentle. They both knew they had nothing to go on. They had run a check on all potential suspects when Joe disappeared, and none were anywhere near Bayport during the time of the incident.

The father in him wanted to beg, '_no, please, stay, and help me…_'

The detective held back – he knew the protocol and understood the need to stay calm and collected.

The father won out. His sons' lives and safety were at stake here. There was no room for pride, only the desire to be able to see his sons safely back home again. And now, he had no idea who took them, why they were taken, and if they were even alive still. The unknown was always far more terrifying than the known. For if he had but a single lead, he would be working on it. And the work itself was a distraction. So for now, he would be the father, and let those who would have more objectivity in this case handle it. For a while anyway, until he could regroup and seize that single tiny lead he needed.

Fenton's mouth opened, but before the words formed, there were two sharp raps on the front door.

Everyone turned their attention towards that sound. The FBI agents made themselves scarce. Henry took his position by the TV where he could get a clear view of the door. He gave Fenton a curt nod, signaling that it was okay to open the door.

Fenton reached for the door and opened it, making sure his body in no way obstructed the vision of the hidden FBI agent.

The person standing across the threshold was The Gray Man. Behind him was Maxwell Kendall, Fenton's best friend since high school, and the current head of the FBI.

The Gray Man was the head of a little known but elite counter-terrorism unit known as the Network. They were part of the FBI, but had security clearance and access to resources far above most of the standard FBI agents. Fenton had worked with Gray only a handful of times and only at the request of Maxwell, his best friend. It was no secret that he himself could have been up there too, if he had chosen the same career path as his friend. But he did not like the tradeoffs and sacrifices that were made sometimes that were necessitated by the political nature of such bureaucratic positions. Hence he chose the simpler and much happier life as a private detective. And he had been successful in his chosen vocation, building a reputation of international standing.

No, he was not happy to see The Gray Man at all. It reminded him too much of the last time he worked with them, managing the security of potential presidential elect Senator Walker. His sons almost died. But it was Joe who paid the highest price, for it was his girlfriend, Iola Morton, who had died in their place. Iola died in Joe's place.

But, why was Max here?

Having them both here at his house at this time was bad news. He wondered if his sons' disappearance had anything to do with the Assassins terrorist group. Just as quickly, he rejected that idea. If it were the Assassins, then only The Gray Man would be here.

Fenton could feel his guts clench in fear.

Then anger. It was denial and Fenton knew it. The mind could not handle the possibility of a potentially bad outcome, and had rigged itself to believe in other more acceptable alternatives. So his mind raged, even as his heart knew, his best friend would never do that to him.

_'_They could not possibly want me to help out again. I told them that the last time was it. No more Network cases. And not now, not when my sons need me so desperately,' Fenton muttered angrily to himself as he allowed the two into his living room.

"What do you want?" Fenton gritted out, his tone hostile, as soon as everyone settled into the living room. "Unless you are here to help me find my sons, we have nothing to talk about."

Max and Gray exchanged a look, and they held it for a long while before finally turning back to face him. Fenton could literally feel a hand tighten around his guts, giving it a painful squeeze. Something was very wrong, he now knew without a doubt. The four FBI agents sat around them, as bidden to do by Max.

It was only then he noticed that Gray was a little pale and off the kilter. That was just not possible. What would rattle The Gray Man so? Fenton could have sworn from his experience that Gray was amoral when it came to fulfilling his responsibilities for The Network. That man had nerves of steel and a heart made of rock if he had one to start with.

Then Fenton realized his own hands were trembling, his palms sweaty.

"Fenton," Gray asked a little hesitantly, "Do you remember _The Candyman_?"

_'The candyman … the candyman …'_ Fenton racked his brain and came up with naught. The Gray Man must have noted his blank expression.

"You were among the eight civilian private investigators hired by the state to help bring him down," Gray prompted him.

Slowly, a feathery wisp of a long forgotten memory teased the edge of his mind. A melody started to play. Then the floodgates opened, and the unwanted images rushed in. He paled. He remembered. Oh he remembered. It was one of the strangest cases he ever handled. _Strange_ was the word he'd forced himself to use whenever he referred to that case, though there were other far more accurate and appropriate words. Like _evil_.

Even now he hesitated to use those words. And over time, he even managed to bury that case and all its _strange _details deep in the recesses of his mind

But it could not be. The Candyman was dead. There was no way he could have lived. There was no way he could have escaped. There was no way he could have lived. No way…

_'He's dead. And no one can come back from the dead, no one can,'_ Fenton told himself.

Then an unbidden thought slipped through his normally rational mind, _'Can he?' _

And the strains of a song that he never ever wanted to hear again started to reverberate through his head:

_The Candyman _

_Oh the Candyman can… _

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	4. In the Gingerbread House

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 3

IN THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE

He was tired.

He had no idea how long he had been wandering around this place. He had been roaming from room to room with no idea where he was and how he got here. He turned into yet another room in this darned place. It was always the same, in one door to a room, and out through another door, into yet another room.

_Where the heck was the exit?! Was there even an exit?! _

_Of course there must be one!_ He scolded himself for that moment of self doubt. He got in here somehow, didn't he?

He paused at the door before him. He really hated these little moments of self-doubt. And he had to admit that they were coming on more and more often now. It really should not surprise him, since this entire _unreal_ place was clearly constructed out of some sort of gingerbread.

_Ultra-hard gingerbread,_ he told himself wryly.

He took a deep breath and turned the door knob. He pushed the door open and entered the room beyond. It was an extremely cozy living room and came complete with couches, sofas, coffee tables and even an old-fashioned rocking chair! An old horned gramophone with its huge brass-colored trumpet sat proud and alone in a far corner. Everything looked so real, he would have believed them the real thing if not for that sweet sugary scent that assailed his nostrils the moment he stepped into the room.

Nevertheless, he could not help but explore the furnishings in depth, and to marvel at the intricate details that were inherent in every single piece of furniture. The frame of the sofa, as far as he could determine, was made from the same type of material as the wall. The cushioning on the sofa was soft, like a sponge cake. It _was_ a sponge cake, he realized as he took a closer look at it.

_Was it edible?_ he wondered.

Next he bent down and examined the coffee table. It was made from hardened caramel to replicate the color and feel of polished mahogany. He noted the series of intricate carvings that adorned the outer edge of the round coffee table. His fingers traced the carvings. The first carving showed a man, perhaps a farmer standing before his field. The next showed a king on his throne before his court. Then there was girl weaving something. The next one showed a girl talking to a dwarf with a pointy nose. The final carving showed a newborn child. The series of carvings told a story, he was sure. But somehow, its significance escaped him at the moment.

Suddenly a soft melody filled the room. It was so soft he had to strain to hear it, so soft he could barely hear it, but he knew it was there. His eyes went directly to the horned gramophone sitting in the corner. He could see the black disc moving. He took a quick glance around the room. He was alone.

_He was not unnerved! _

He walked slowly towards the gramophone. Like everything else within these gingerbread walls, it was made out of some sort of a sweet. He had no doubt that this was a perfect replica of the real thing, which according to the tag, was a Victor II Humpback model built in 1909. He could smell the licorice that made the vinyl disc now turning round and round before him. He placed his finger lightly on the shiny brass trumpet and felt the tiniest of vibrations, proving that the music did indeed emanate from that very edible-looking gramophone.

And he still could not identify that familiar melody that was echoing in his mind.

But there was one thing he knew very clearly by now. Whoever created this place took great pride and care in creating all these artistic furnishings. That person was very patient. That person was meticulous to a fault, taking care even to put down the actual date of the replica gramophone. And that person was likely obsessive. _Very, very_ obsessive. And that was a bad thing.

He moved away from the gramophone almost reluctantly. He wondered why he was so reluctant to move away from that gramophone. But he knew he must. He must if he wanted out of this crazy place. And crazy was the only word he could think of to describe it. So far, he had been roaming almost aimlessly from room to room. Each room that he had been inhad at least two doors, some as many as five. There were no windows, not a single one so far.

He had not started out that way. He had diligently taken note and painstakingly built his mental map from the moment he wandered out of the room where he awoke.

But that map was getting really screwed up. That was almost unexpected, since he did have close to eidetic memory. And now, he could not find his way back there even if he tried. Actually he did try – he retraced his steps through the same set of doors, or so he thought. But somehow he ended in totally different rooms from where he was expecting. And meanwhile his mental map kept expanding.

The entire place was like a maze and a puzzle. And the whole puzzle just was not making any logical sense! A good number of those rooms would have to be overlapping each other, according to his mental map of the place. Furthermore, he should have passed his original room several times over.

He felt the first hint of unease in his guts.

_That's just not possible! There must be a logical explanation! _

He could feel a migraine coming. He pushed himself to ignore the pain and focused on solving the mystery of the overlapping rooms of his mental map. What if…what if the entire place was built on an incline? Yes, that was possible. Then the rooms would be one on top of the other and not overlapping.

He could feel his palms getting clammy.

There were several things wrong with that reasoning, he knew. Firstly, he did not feel at any point in time that he was moving either uphill or downhill. Secondly, it was simply not possible for those overlapping rooms on his mental map to be located one above the other given his recall of the dimensions of the rooms, because that would mean that the incline would have to be at least fifty degrees. And at that steepness, he would be doing rock climbing and not walking. Thirdly, his incline theory dictated that all the overlapping rooms should be logically located at one end of his mental map, and his mental map showed those overlapping rooms spread out evenly in random locations.

It was impossible.

His mental map was just not logically possible.

Then there was that music again, and for some reason his head started to pound. The lingering tangy gingerbread smell suddenly intensified, turning sickeningly sweet. The room he was in felt like it was moving, and his vision blurred. He thought he saw something pouring out of the walls and he fought to hold back an inexplicable terror rising from deep within him.

No…no… not again… all for nothing… 

Slowly, like a drowning man, he sank down onto the hard, sweet floor and was soon totally knocked out.

HBHBHB 

He could hear a melody of sorts. It sounded familiar. It should be a happy melody, something told him. Yet it sounded so haunting he felt like crying.

Then the music was gone….

He opened his eyes.

He looked up at the golden-brown ceiling above him. He felt he was lying on something sticky; something sweet and sticky, and found he was lying on a bed made of soft spongy gingerbread.

Suddenly he felt a little nauseous. His sinuses hurt. The sharp tangy scent of sugared ginger surrounded him, smothering him in its powerful embrace. That…that…stench permeated every inch of his skin. He knew he could not escape it. That was bad; it meant that he was here for a long time.

He forced himself to gather his thoughts, and to think.

How long?

He had no idea.

Where was he?

He had no idea.

Who was he?

He felt the tiniest spark of panic rising, which he quickly squashed.

_Calm_.

He strove for calm.

_Think_.

Okay, he could not remember his name. But what could he remember?

A house in a town called…Bayport! Yes! Bayport!

An image of him with a blond-headed youth flashed through his mind. He knew that youth. He worked to push past the fog clouding his mind. He saw another man, an older version of himself, talking to him, and the blond-headed youth stood right next to him.

An older version of himself? So he knew what he looked like. He knew his eyes were brown, and he had dark brown hair. And he attended Bayport High. He shared a van with his younger brother…he had a younger brother!

_And his brother's name was Joe…Joseph Hardy…and his name is…his name is Frank. Yes! He is Frank Hardy! _He exulted

Just as quickly, that short uplifting moment was gone. He remembered: Joe had been missing for a week.

He remembered talking to all his and Joe's friends and classmates, tracking his brother's activities on the day he vanished. Vanessa was the last to see Joe that day. They had stayed behind to finish off a class project. She left early. Then there was nothing, except for his brother's driver's license and a half of a biscuit left on Joe's motorbike. He had gone through the entire list of potential enemies, even secretly contacted The Gray Man and pleaded for help after the FBI packed up and left. He hit the dead-end at every turn, but he refused to give up.

Was Joe still alive? He wondered.

Of course his brother lives! Frank refused to believe otherwise. He would find Joe. He had never failed his brother and he would not start now.

But first, he had to get out of here.

He scanned his environs. It was unfamiliar and it was strange. First things first; one must ask the right questions.

So, how did he come to be in this place?

He had no idea. Try as he might, he could not remember those necessary details. He could only remember going on an errand for his mom. His last memory was of driving down Shore Road. Why was he even there? Shore Road was definitely not on his route back home!

_And where was this place? _

Frank took a good look around him. The golden-brown walls; the bed he was lying on that was made of gingerbread. In fact, he would bet from that sickeningly sweet, spicy aroma that overwhelmed the room that everything here was made of gingerbread.

_And sweets_, he added. _Lots and lots of sugar here…_

His fingers traced the multicolored M&Ms chocolates and jellybeans that were used to create the mosaic artwork for the headboard of the bed. He had to admit that it was a very intricate piece of artwork and felt a grudging respect for the skill and the patience of the person who created it.

Well, obviously he would not be getting any answers here, so he might as well get moving. Honestly though, the absolute silence in the room was starting to freak him out. He stood up and headed towards the only door. He wondered why this particular move seemed so familiar…it was as if he had done this before.

He opened the door and walked through.

He was in a nursery complete with a baby cot and a changing table. A hanging mobile hovered over the cot, its chocolate frogs slowly turning, blocking the light at intervals, and casting froggy shadows that moved slowly around the room.

He could feel sticky sweat forming on his back.

Frank forced himself to focus on the two doors before him. Another memory flashed in his mind.

_He was walking aimlessly from room to room, desperately searching for an exit. There was no exit, and he never once returned to the same room…. _

Frank could not stop a sudden shiver going through him.

Again he forcefully clamped down on that unwanted emotion through sheer willpower. It was not something he needed right now.

He glared at the other door in the nursery and strode determinedly towards it.

Room behind is brown bedroom, and room ahead is… 

…an indoor candy-land playground.

There was a merry-go-round, swings, see-saws, slides, and even a sand pit. The merry-go-round was made out of cookies turning about a lollipop. The little candy horses for little kids to ride on were made from colored crystallized sugar and came complete with chocolate stirrups. The see-saws were chocolate logs and the swings were hardened caramel pieces held aloft by licorice strings. The sand pit was filled with brown sugar instead of sand, of course. And there was even a sandcastle standing tall and grand in the middle of the sand pit.

It was clear to Frank that whoever created this playground had invested many loving hours building it. That person must be obsessive…

_Very, very obsessive and that is a bad thing... _

Frank jumped as those words flashed past him.

Did he say those exact words before?

He had no idea.

Frank eyed the two doors before him. He wondered which to go for. He could not decide. Another thought suddenly occurred to him. What if he wanted to return to the nursery?

Why would he want to do that?

But something told him to do it. He walked rather hesitantly back to the door which he knew should return him to the nursery.

Why did he feel so…scared…of what lay behind that door?

He reached out for the door knob. He turned it. He pushed it inwards. And he stared at the sight before him in shock.

It wasn't a nursery but a kitchen that he was looking at. And that was impossible. He turned back to look at the other two doors beyond the sandpit and the see-saws right before him. He was at the right door! It should have been the nursery…another memory flashed.

_He was in deep thought….A good number of those rooms would have to be overlapping each other, according to his mental map of the place….What if…what if the entire place was built on an incline? There were several things wrong with that reasoning… _

What if the rooms could shift? Frank asked himself.

He recalled that mental map now, and knew instantly it could not be applied to his current…awakening. Yes, he had traveled this journey several times now….

_But why? For what purpose? _

Again he had no answers. But he knew each time he started again, he had to work harder at keeping his calm.

Frank willed himself to focus on the mystery of the changing rooms instead. Shifting rooms? Again that theory was highly impossible. He had felt nothing and heard nothing. And there was no way to move an entire room so completely and smoothly with so little time.

At least there was no way that he could think of that was possible with currently known technologyFrank admitted. _But, that does not mean that there is no logical explanation,_ he reminded himself sternly.

What should he do now? Should he go back and check out the other two doors first? Would it make a difference?

No.

His stomach growled in hunger, and he decided he might as well try the kitchen.

He walked in.

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	5. The Thirteen

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 4

THE THIRTEEN

Arthur Gray shrank into the couch he was sitting on. He did not want to be here. However, one did not tell one's boss 'no' under circumstances like this one. But he wished he could just vanish somehow out of the Hardy home and return to the safety of his office back in New York City. He was known as The Gray Man because of his ability to blend inconspicuously into any environment he was in. Except, apparently, when he most wanted to and needed to; right here and now in this house.

He wondered how long it would take for Fenton to realize the significance of why he was here. He swallowed his tea and felt a little sick. Then the questions would start. And then he would have to remember. He shivered a little and hoped no one noticed.

No one did. They were all too enthralled by the conversation going on between Fenton and their boss, Maxwell. How often did one get to sit in the same room at the same time with the head of FBI, the head of the Network, and a private eye with a reputation like Fenton Hardy?

"That was 13 years ago…" Fenton said.

"Yes," Maxwell responded in a soft but clear voice. "I was a field agent back then when it happened…"

"One of the best they had…" Fenton could not resist adding.

Maxwell let out a little laugh. It was just something to lighten the somber mood in the living room.

"A number of our undercover agents went missing," Maxwell continued. "At first we thought they were discovered and taken down by the respective agencies they were spying on…only to find out later it was not the case. No bodies were found, and we found out the various agencies were also wondering what happened to their men. So, no, their covers were still intact."

Maxwell paused and gathered his thoughts, "After the eighth undercover agent went missing, we still had no clue as to what was happening. There were some interesting characteristics though. All missing agents were deep undercover agents. And they were all taken from different states, and had disappeared at the rate of one a month. We had no clues as to how they were taken then. Our best profilers thought that it might be the work of a very intelligent psychopath, possibly a serial killer, out looking for a challenge."

"Why is it that we never heard of anything like that…?" Henry started to ask when Maxwell stopped for a drink.

"It was not something we want to advertise, you must understand that….It was imperative we put a stop to those abductions back then, and the FBI did something unprecedented. They authorized the employment of eight civilian detectives to assist in the case. It was hoped that those detectives would offer fresh perspectives to a case that had been running stale over eight months. Fenton was hired to helpme track down the missing agent in New York. Not long after he took up the case, the ninth undercover agent went missing, also in New York City. It sort of cancelled one of our theories on the MO."

"Anyway, and in a nutshell, a total of 13 agents were taken over 13 months," Fenton interrupted his best friend, his tone flat and controlled. "It was sheer luck that the Candyman made a mistake while abducting his thirteenth victim. Even so, it took us nearly a month to trace his whereabouts. By the time we found them, twelve were dead and the thirteenth close to catatonic but alive. Then we hunted the Candyman down in his personal playground. We cornered him but he blew up the room rather than get caught."

Gray smiled inwardly as he compared the reactions of both men. Max had chosen to go into details to avoid reaching the gruesome part too quickly. Fenton had stripped out all details, leaving behind a bland but essentially accurate story. He didn'tblame them. He wouldn't want to remember either. And it was not the details, it was the feelings. The overwhelming emotions…

Then Fenton confronted them: "So whathas the Candyman got to do with my missing sons? He was dead, we saw him, and we found his remains."

"Maybe nothing. Maybe everything," Maxwell told him, his tone serious, and his eyes silently telling Fenton to be prepared.

"Thirteen years ago, we hired eight detectives. All in all, they had thirteen children."

Fenton felt the blood drain from his face. His heart began to race.

His friend continued, ruthlessly: "The first went missing thirteen weeks ago. Joseph was the twelfth and Frank was the thirteenth. In each case, a partial piece of a sweet was left with some form of the victim's identity, usually a driver's license," Maxwell finished gently.

Fenton couldn't help himself. He felt sick. The images he kept barely buried in his conscious mind suddenly broke free. He saw the strange rooms he went through as he helped to chase that killer. And he saw the twelve dead bodies as they were paraded one by one past his mind's eye in great detail. Then he saw his sons….

He puked.

HBHBHB 

Everyone was quiet as they waited for Fenton to join them again. The four younger FBI agents all looked a little uneasy. The situation was getting to them. They could see that their superiors were spooked by that case, and they were all wondering if they really wanted to know the details.

Fenton made his way slowly back to the living room. He had no choice. If the Candyman had his sons, then he had no time to waste. He sat down on the couch, ready to start again.

The Gray Man knew that everyone had expected him to continue with details of what happened thirteen years back. But he knew better. And Fenton did not disappoint.

"So if it's the Candyman, whether the original or a possible copycat, what is **_he_** doing here?" Fenton tilted his head towards Arthur Gray as he put the question to Maxwell.

His friend replied, "He was the lone agent who survived thirteen years ago, Fenton. Back then, you were only allowed to read the transcripts of the interview. But now you can …"

Fenton's eyes widened in surprise, and turned to look at Gray again. He realized this time that Gray did indeed look a little grey. _'Oh my God, to have gone through that…'_

He vaguely heard his friend talking some more.

"…and Fenton, we want you to come with us to our office in New York City. The other seven detectives should be there by now. And we do have more leads for you to go through."

The room was quiet. They were waiting for Fenton's answer. Or his questions.

But he did neither.

Then Sam broke the silence, and asked that question. Everyone else waited with bated breath for an answer.

"How did the twelve agents die?"

Even Sam was unnerved by the three sets of stony eyes staring back at him.

No one answered him. Perhaps it was because they were interrupted. For something came crashing in through the window, scattering something all around them. And everyone dove for cover.

There was absolute stillness and absolute silence. For a while anyway. Then slowly, the people began to move.

There were candies all around them. Chuppa-chups. Toffees. Jellybeans. Chocs-eclairs. Licorice drops. You name them, you find them. And in the midst of all those little sweets was a large lollipop. On it were the words in a scrawling script:

The Thirteen 

They all stared at that lollipop. They failed to notice the reaction of one man amongst them.

Gray was staring at the black and white swirls on the lollipop, and the red words imprinted on it. Oh no, no, no… a memory long forgotten surfaced. Or was it merely suppressed? And he saw red. All around him. His hands were blood coated. And sugar coated. There was blood everywhere. He could still smell the saccharine sweetness.

More and more images flashed by. And voices echoed hollowly in his eardrums. Saccharine-sweet voices. His breathing started to get raspier. He could remember making candy floss and fruit sorbet. And on the table before him…

Gray started to laugh. Rather softly at first, then it grew progressively louder.

The others turned and look at him in surprise.

"Gray?" he heard Fenton called out carefully.

He did not care, he could not care. It was like someone else was there controlling him. Or maybe it was just him losing it. He knew they were all looking at him, concerned. But that didn't matter to him. Not anymore.

He remembered. He finally remembered.

He laughed. Bitterly. Maniacally. Painfully. Regretfully. He cried. He laughed so hard and cried so hard, his throat and eyes hurt. He sank slowly down onto the floor.

Finally, he looked up into Fenton's concerned eyes and mumbled in a childlike voice, "I was…_The Thirteen_…that was why the candyman let me live…"

"Oh my God…I killed them…I killed them all…I was The Thirteen…and I killed them all."

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	6. Gingerbread Cookery

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 5:

GINGERBREAD COOKERY

Something shifted.

Frank blinked. _What was that? _

The door closed behind him with a soft 'click'. For some reason, that sound unsettled him. He turned around and took his time examining the door. It looked like any other door he encountered in this place, so why did entering this room feel different to him? He took a quick scan about the room. It looked like a typical kitchen. As typical as one could get considering everything here was made out of gingerbread.

Frank let out a nervous laugh. He must have been more spooked than he thought.

He headed towards the cooking area. Everything was still made out of gingerbread and sweets, as he expected. It would be interesting to see how the stove and the oven worked. The table top was dirty, as if someone else was here before and working on it. There was a recipe book on the table. It was a sweets and desserts recipe book. He had a feeling that all the ingredients and equipment for making all those sweets would be available in this kitchen.

It was not a good feeling.

_But there are actually real things in this room not made of candies or gingerbread! _

He investigated the larder, and found a container of cookies. Gingerbread Snaps. He screwed up his nose in disgust. But there was nothing else, so he helped himself to one. Then he washed it down with some tap water. It was then he noticed something carved into the wall behind the tap. He squinted and made out the crudely carved words.

**_Help each other_**

**_Read and leave _**

**_Message at table top_**

Frank Hardy stared at the words carved into the gingerbread wall before him. He rushed back to the table top. There was the recipe book, the cutleries, the knives, and the chopping board. That was one big flat wooden chopping board. He turned it around.

_Yes! _

There were words carved into the wood. It was barely legible. It was obvious that there were many messages there, left behind by many people. And it was clear most of them could not carve. He started to work out the individual messages.

**_I was here_**

**_I am Drusilla_**

**_John was here_**

**_Enrico here_**

**_Michelle – in from nursery_**

**_Arthur – came from library the middle door_**

**_Richard in through leftmost door from larder from billiards room and out from rightmost door. _**

_Eleonora in first door right of painting gym _

**_Enrico Carlos – in from door left of painting was billiard room out same door hope it is still billiard room _**

The last message was the clearest and also the dearest to him.

**_Joe Hardy. Three doors in kitchen. Stand before table facing painting. Enter from second door right of painting from pink bedroom. Two doors in bedroom, the other door led to nursery. Exiting the only door left of painting. _**

Frank stared at the last message. His heart lifted a little.

_Joe's here! _

Just as quickly, his joy deflated. It was clear they were all trapped here within these strange gingerbread walls. He returned his attention to the carvings. Two Enricos – were they the same person? Possibly, since he remembered waking up and not remembering who he was for a while. And even now he could not remember exactly what happened before.

_Was__ it his first time in this kitchen? _

He had no idea and had no way of knowing. Something was interfering with his short-term memory. Some sort of a drug, perhaps. Again he had no way of knowing. He sighed in frustration.

_Okay, what did he know? _

1. Someone had him and Joe and some other people.

2. They were all trapped in this gingerbread house. _(Has anyone found a way out yet?)_

3. There was something interfering with his short term memory.

4. There was no point in staying in a room for too long because if you do, somehow you get knocked out cold. _(Yes, he just remembered that bit.)_

5. So someone must be playing some sort of a game with them. _(Yes, that must be it! But what are the rules?)_

6. The entire thing was designed to look and feel strange and supernatural, but there must be a logical explanation, and he would figure it out eventually.

With that list, Frank felt much better.

His niggling doubts and fears reburied deep within himself, he set out to carve his message onto the chopping board.

**_Frank Hardy. Enter through middle door from playground. Joe this room was supposed to be nursery not kitchen. Possible hallucinogen involved. Be careful. Exit door left of painting. _**

Frank returned the board to its original location, and then headed towards the same door his brother had used. He ignored his own logical voice reminding him that it was highly likely that he would not be walking into the same room as his brother did.

He would find Joe.

There must be an exit somewhere, and he, Frank Hardy would find it.

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	7. Sugar Coated Truths

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 6

SUGAR-COATED TRUTHS

It was true that he never liked coming to the Network Office in New York City. He never liked the way the people behaved and dressed in that office. He had always thought they felt unreal and that the entire place had a clinical feel about it.

Today, that sense of unreality was even more pronounced. Perhaps it was what happened that gave him that sense of detachment to his surroundings. But from the moment he stepped into the Network building, he felt totally alienated from everything about him. It was like he was standing right behind himself and watching everything that was happening through the eyes of the empty shell before him.

Fenton Hardy followed the others into the meeting room that was given to them for the duration of this case. He felt the door close behind him and could not help but feel a little claustrophobic.

It was the memory of the maze chase, he told himself.

He felt a little better.

The seven people seated about a large mahogany table stood up as he entered the room. They looked as haunted and tired as he felt. He recognized some of them, but he remembered all their names.

He had suppressed those memories to some extent. But he could not forget their names. And now, those figments of data were coming back, and he welcomed them grudgingly and cautiously. He needed those data.

The oldest man amongst them, Mathew Broadwick, was in his sixties and had recently retired from the investigative scene. He hailed from Texas. Beside Mathew was an old acquaintance, Mike Pontulous, with whom he had worked on several occasions. Mike lived in Michigan. Then there was Jude Lawson from Maryland, Emilio Carlos from New Orleans where he made his name as a profiler, Gaby West and Kane Smith. Gaby was well known in New Jersey for his work in insurance fraud cases. Kane Smith was from New Mexico, and was well known for his work on tracking down criminals and escaped convicts.

Then there was Madeline Florence, the only female on the team. She worked in Florida in forensics, but was pulled onto the case by the former FBI chief because of her medical skills as well as her deductive capabilities. She was the only woman that tempted him, and they were 'that' close to committing adultery. He was grateful they didn't, for he knew now without doubt that he would have lost both women if he had.

But their eyes met and held. And he knew she remembered.

And he, Fenton, was the youngest of the eight civilian detectives on the case thirteen years ago.

The eight eyed each other for a moment and nodded their understanding. There was no need for words to describe their fears and concerns. Fenton drew strength and comfort from the steely determination he found burning in the depths of every single one of those seven pairs of eyes.

He was not the lone father anymore.

"Good to see you here, Fenton." That was Mathew Broadwick.

"Any idea what is going on yet?" He had to ask.

The flat expressions on the seven faces told him what he needed to know. He could not hide his disappointment and fear.

"It could be a copycat, it could be revenge. We have no idea," Maxwell admitted. "But whoever is carrying this out had knowledge of what happened 13 years ago, and there is a possibility that he was an accomplice we missed. So it is imperative that we bring him in."

Fenton noted the detectives ignored that statement. They were here because they wanted their sons and daughters back. That was all they cared about. That was all he cared about too. Fenton looked carefully for the first time, at the facilities the FBI had set aside for this case. The space, the tables, the computer terminals, a number of agents assisting them, a couple of lab assistants, and even a fully equipped lab set up in one of the corners. And he knew that the other parents were right. The FBI wanted something.

They would never get it if his sons or any of the other children were harmed in any way, Fenton vowed.

And he returned the other seven his assurance that he, like them, would break ranks with the FBI as soon as they got a hint of where their children might be. They knew how the bureaucracy worked far too well, each of them having being burnt by it before at some point in their life.

It was then that Fenton noticed a makeshift medical bed in the other corner of the room. On it sat a figure all hunched up and shivering. It took him a while to recognize Arthur Gray.

His thought process was interrupted when another agent arrived and announced that the detectives' immediate families had all been moved to a safe-house as was agreed on. For the first time, Fenton wondered if that was a right decision – leaving Laura alone in an unfamiliar environment, and with _them_. At least Con Riley was there with her. Again he sent his quiet thanks to his friend Police Chief Ezra Collig for allowing Con time off to accompany Laura.

He forced his attention back to the problem at hand.

"You said there are more leads here, Max. What are they?" He turned his steely gaze on his best friend.

He hoped fervently that it would not turn into a soon-to-be-ex-best-friend.

Max simply tilted his head towards the table. There were several piles of papers and folders there. It was clear that the other seven were already working on them. Fenton turned his attention towards the others in hope that someone would give him a quick summary.

But again he was interrupted by the arrival of another agent.

_'No wonder the FBI are so inefficient!' Fenton fumed. _

"Sir, we searched the area surrounding the Hardy residence for possible launch sites as you ordered. And we found the site as well as the launcher. Here are the preliminary results."

"Thank you, Cassandra. You may go." Maxwell swiftly perused the report.

Fenton did not like it when Max looked at him with that expression on his face.

"Fenton…there was a set of prints on the 'candy-launcher'…"

All the detectives turned their attention on Max.

"…It was Joseph's. Joseph Hardy…"

HBHBHB 

The mood in the room was subdued.

Why were Joe's prints on the launcher? Was his son the one who fired that shot? Or was it part of a sick man's game? Fenton wondered, but had no answers.

"He could have made Joe hold the weapon for a moment before bringing it out…" Maddy, Madeline, had said to him.

Fenton hoped she was right.

He could hear the sounds of Sam gagging over the sink in the lab-corner of the room. Sam had just seen the photos of what happened to the twelve agents. Fenton shot his partner a sympathetic smile. Oh yes, he understood that heavy feeling of dread all too well…

"Sir…" 

_'Another agent, another delay,' _Fenton mused.

"Special delivery for Arthur Gray, in memory of time long gone by…"

The agent walked straight in and placed the box in Gray's hand.

Everyone wondered what that was all about and their eyes were fixed on that long black box. It was a move they would all regret later. But now, they wanted to know what was in that box.

Gray opened the box and extracted a long glass box. His hands were shaking as he placed it on the table.

It was a long airtight glass container. Within the container were thirteen pieces of candy. At least that was what it looked like at first glance. A closer examination revealed thirteen translucent blobs of crystallized sugar. And there was something embedded within each of them.

And Gray started singing, his eyes still glued to the glass container, his tone pitched high and light.

_The Candy Man makes everything he bakes_

_Satisfying and delicious_

_Now you talk about your childhood wishes_

_You can even eat the dishes…_

As Gray's voice faded off, all eyes returned to the thirteen candies in the box. The eight detectives and Max now had no doubt what those little things in the centre of each translucent blob of sugar might be.

At least for twelve of them.

The question was…what was in the thirteenth?

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	8. Hansel and Gretel

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 7

HANSEL AND GRETEL

Frank Hardy took one last look at the kitchen behind him. There's nothing more to be had here. It's time to go, he acknowledged. He took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped into the next room. As usual, the door closed behind him, leaving him standing, and the setting of the new room spread mockingly before him.

Frank knew immediately that this room was different.

The difference was in the starkness of the lighting, the way everything centered at the showpiece set, Frank knew, intentionally in the middle of the room. From where he stood, he thought it looked like a doll house of some sort. He walked towards it.

The 'doll house' was made of gingerbread set on top of a large butterscotch table, again with intricate artwork adorning its sides.

It was a gingerbread house.

He noted there was a book stand next to the model and went over to it. There was a huge book made out of creamy colored solidified sugar, and there were words smelted in red into the thick brittle sugared slabs. The title on the cover read:

Hansel and Gretel 

Frank carefully flipped the book open, and the story, written in thick cursive script, read:

**_Once upon a time, next to a great forest, lived two happy siblings. Their names were Hansel and Gretel. They had wonderful parents, neighbors and friends._**

**_One day, something happened and the forest turned dark and evil. Friends and neighbors started to sicken and weaken and starve. A group of elders came together and decided a sacrifice was needed to appease the Great Forest Gods, and Hansel was chosen._**

**_The poor parents could not bring themselves to abandon their firstborn son in the forest. But the elders proclaimed: if they would not do it, then more would sicken and starve._**

**_Hansel and Gretel overheard the entire conversation. Gretel thought that her brother was doomed and began to cry bitterly. But Hansel said: Don't worry, I know what to do. With that, Hansel got up and sneaked out of the house. He returned with a roll of thread so thin it was almost invisible._**

**_So came morning and the father, with a heavy heart, gave Hansel a piece of gingerbread and took him into the forest. After they had walked a little way, Hansel stopped to look back towards the house._**

**_The father said: Hansel, why are you looking back? Pay attention now and keep up with me._**

Hansel said: I am looking at Gretel waving goodbye to me. 

**_However, Hansel had not been looking at Gretel. Instead he tied one end of the thread to a branch, and he let the thread unroll as he followed his father deeper into the forest._**

**_They arrived in the middle of the woods, and the father said: Hansel, gather some wood, and I will make a fire so we won't freeze._**

**_When the flames were burning well, the father said: Lie down by the fire and sleep. I will go into the woods to cut down trees. Wait until I come back and get you._**

**_So Hansel sat by the fire and waited. Midday came and went and soon it was night. His father did not return. So when the moon came up, Hansel took out his roll of thread and followed the thread home._**

**_The parents were overjoyed to see Hansel, but the elders were not, and they said: Tomorrow you must take him deeper into the woods, so he cannot find his way home. Otherwise there will be no help for us._**

Again Hansel and Gretel overheard the conversation. 

**_That night Hansel got up and wanted to go and get another roll of thread, but he when he got to the door, he found that it was locked. Still he comforted Gretel and said: Don't worry, sister, I will find my way home._**

**_The next morning his father gave him another piece of gingerbread and again took him into the forest. After they had walked a little way, Hansel again stopped to look back towards the house._**

**_The father said: Hansel, why are you looking back? Pay attention now and keep up with me._**

Hansel said: I am looking at Gretel waving goodbye to me. 

**_And Hansel broke his gingerbread into crumbs and carefully threw out the crumbs as he followed his father into the forest._**

**_Again they arrived in the middle of the forest, his father again left him there after helping him build a fire. And Hansel waited until night, but no one came for him._**

**_When the moon came out again, Hansel looked for the crumbs, but they were gone, eaten by the creatures of the forest. Hansel thought he could still find his way home, but was soon lost in the depths of the forest._**

The moon set. The sun rose. It set, and the moon rose again. 

**_Hansel was starving, for he had nothing but a few wild berries since the morning his father took him from his home._**

**_Then lo and behold! Before him, bathed in the pale moonlight, sat a house made entirely of gingerbread. He knew because he could smell it. He made his way towards it and helped himself to a piece of gingerbread window ledge followed by the sweets that decorated the windows and doors._**

**_Soon he was sated. But he could not help but be curious what lay beyond the door and in the house. Slowly, he opened the door and went in._**

**_Hansel never came out again._**

**_It is said that he is still searching for his way home today._**

**_To be continued…_**

Frank stepped back from the book stand. He could not help the unease that started and slowly built as he read the story. By the time he finished, his hands were cold, clammy and sticky.

He knew the story was…different.

And the ending was…not an ending.

The room suddenly felt chilled.

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	9. Gingerbread Men

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 8

GINGERBREAD MEN

_The story,_ Frank thought. _That story…_

And Frank knew somehow this room was the key. The answers to why he was here would be found somewhere in this room. He only needed to decipher the clues contained here. He forced his attention back to the model gingerbread house, examining it in detail.

The gingerbread house was built like a small round cottage and stood tall like a tower, even though it was only two stories high. It even had a thatched roof made out of lemon jelly strips. There were no doors, but for a single intricate window that seemed to be the only way into that building. The house was located in the middle of a clearing surrounded by dark gnarled trees. White colored candy floss lay in a careless layer hugging the trunks of the trees, giving the model a misty, mysterious appearance. The trees were made of dark chocolates, giving the entire setting a very dark, alienated and spooky feel.

For some strange reason, Frank found the setting extremely familiar. Had he seen this before somewhere?

He peered closer at the model. There was something there in the ground around the gingerbread house. They looked like…graves. They were opened graves and came complete with a half opened coffin in each.

Frank felt consternation grew in him.

He started to count the number of graves, walking around the model as he did. There were twelve of them.

Then Frank realized why the scene looked so familiar. He and Joe had seen a movie a couple of months back. The 'tower' might be different, but this scene was taken from _The Brothers Grimm_ starring Matt Damon and Heath Ledger.

This was the 'tower' where the wicked Mirror Queen slept, waiting to be returned to life.

Except it wasn't a replica of that tower here, but a gingerbread house. Possibly the gingerbread house Hansel supposedlyentered. But no, this house has no doors.

Suddenly, Frank knew what all those carvings were about. They were all scenes from the various Grimm's Fairy Tales. He bent down and quickly worked his way through the carvings. Yes, that was Snow White, and there was Rapunzel, and there on the other end of the table was Little Red Riding Hood…

…and all of them seemed a little twisted to him.

His heart started to pound harder against his ribs, and even harder still as he spotted a second lower and longer table that he missed before.

On it were thirteen gingerbread men, seven males and six females. Colored sugarfrosting denoted the hair and M&Ms denoted the eyes.

_The first was male with straight yellow hair and blue eyes._

_The second was female with wavy black hair and brown eyes._

_The third was also female with straight yellow hair and blue eyes._

_The fourth was male with curly black hair and brown eyes._

_The fifth was again male with straight brown hair and brown eyes._

_The sixth was female with long wavy brown hair and green eyes._

_The seventh was male with wavy brown hair and blue eyes._

_The eighth was female with long wavy yellow hair and blue eyes._

_The ninth was male with curly yellow hair and blue eyes._

_The tenth was female with long wavy red hair and green eyes._

_The eleventh was also female with short wavy red hair and green eyes._

_The twelfth was male with wavy yellow hair and blue eyes._

_The thirteenth was also male with wavy brown hair and brown eyes._

Frank chewed his lips in concentration. It seemed that the last two were possibly him and Joe. And that meant…

Strains of a sweet melody filled the dark silent room.

He swiveled around, expecting to see someone walking up to him. But he was still alone in the room.

Soon, a voice started humming, joining in with the instrumental melody and the music echoed around the room.

Frank felt his breath just whoosh out of his lungs. He finally recognized the song.

_(Candyman)_

Was that him?

_(Hey Candyman)_

Definitely not him!

The music continuedto grow in intensity, and Frank could feel the strong vibrations beating against the inside of his skull, as if they were trapped in there and looking for a way out.

He could hear footsteps coming. His eyes were drawn to the door before him.

Was that door there before?

He had no idea, but it clearly mattered not at this point in time. The footsteps grew louder still, and the door before him seemed to be almost quivering in excitement.

His heart raced, his breath came in gasps.

_(All right, everybody gather 'round)_

But Frank was barely aware of that. His entire being was focused on that door. His hands were trembling quite badly now, and he knew not why. He thought he saw shadows detaching themselves from the walls.

_(The Candyman is here)_

He could feel something gathering in his throat, ready to escape at the first chance. His eyes grew wide and he stared straight ahead…

The door opened.

He screamed.

Soon the strains of the music faded away, and an empty hollow laughter echoed off the sweet walls of the Gingerbread House.

But Frank was no longer awake to hear it.

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	10. The Number 13

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 9

THE NUMBER 13

Triskaidekaphobia: the fear of the number 13. For example: the fear of having 13 people in the same room with you, or the fear of living on the 13th floor.

Superstitious people believed that the number 13 brought bad luck. Fools, all of them were! What a bunch of ignorant fools they were!

He laughed at those superstitious fearful people. They had no idea of the power that lay behind that very magical prime number, that number '13' has the power to open doors. So how did such a powerful number come to be a numerological pariah? That made for some interesting theories.

But he was only interested in one at the moment, the one that best fit his plans.

And that was the story that the association of bad luck with the number 13 is attributed to the belief that Judas the betrayer at the table of The Last Supper with Jesus made thirteen.

_'Anywhere one goes, there will always be a Judas_he thought philosophically. _'And even amongst __Judases__, there will be a Judas of all Judases…'_

Make no mistake; the number 13 is a powerful number. It is a prime number, and a Fibonacci number. And of course also a baker's, a devil's or long dozen…for those who chose to see it that way.

But what mattered to himwas that 13 is prime.

PRIME.

Twelve plus one made thirteen. Twelve and one are both power numbers, and twelve is also almost universally regarded as a perfect number, signifying harmony and all good things. One is, of course, the first of everything and the start of all things.

So, so special is the number 13!

And the number 12….

He took a quick glance at the twelve screens to his left before returning his attention to the notes before him. His twelve little Judases were all coming along as expected. He smiled at the brief sight of the twelve bodies twisting and turning in the throes of terror, trapped within the gingerbread walls.

He spared another glance at the thirteenth screen. The _ONE_. That one was coming along fine too. What a quick learner that one was.

_'Soon,'_ he thought happily. _'Soon they will pay for their crimes, and I will get to go home.'_

A movement from the very last screen caught his eye. He swiveled his chair around to give that screen his full attention.

The brown-headed youth had somehow managed to shake off his fear and was currently examining the gingerbread cell he was in. The youth's hands were shaking as he slowly felt his way around his cell looking for an exit point.

He glanced at the name tag below the screen. _Frank Hardy_, it said.

He returned to his work station and flipped through his notes, and read several sheets of paper. He frowned and for a moment was lost in deep thought. A while later, his lips curled into a parody of a smile as he started to pack things neatly into their respective folders, and then flipped several switches before him. He had a particular subject that required his full and personal attention for a while more.

Then he turned his full attention to the screen before him. He placed both his hands on the sides of the screen, and stared unblinkingly at Frank as the youth slowly moved from gingerbread wall to gingerbread wall. He focused totally on the expressions on the youth's face, taking detailed note of every single nuance that appeared. He took note of every single change to the stance of the body. He missed absolutely nothing.

It could have been five minutes, it could have been fifteen. But time hath no meaning in the domain of fear.

And finally, he watched as the youth started to become ever more agitated. He could almost hear the racing heart, and the short gasping breaths.

The youth was clearly slowly losing it; his eyes darting left and right, up and down, desperately searching for something and seeing nothing. And soon, the youth was curled up in a corner of his cell, rocking back and forth with tears streaking down his face.

He leaned back into his chair and contemplated the youth before him. That youth still had fire in him. Perhaps one more run through the house? He sat there and considered his options. Perhaps he could use the younger brother? He thought about it for a long while more. Finally, he stood up, a smile of satisfaction on his face. He had come to the conclusion what to do, and soon everything would be ready for the next stage of his work.

He turned and headed out of the door into another room. There was a single bed in the room. Strapped to that bed was his Judas of all Judases. He reached out to ruffle the once blond hair, now dull, dirty and matted. He tilted the chin upwards so he could look into those vacant blue eyes.

Vacant empty eyes that would soon be filled with a purpose.

* * *

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	11. The Setting Sun

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 10

THE SETTING SUN

The sun was just setting and the skies were a mash of fiery orange and crimson hues. The dark orange sunbeams shone through open windows, and imbued the furnishings of the room with the warmth of a reddish afterglow.

In there, five women were seated round a coffee table enjoying their coffee, sharing their concerns and finding strength from each other's tales of their husbands' successes over the years.

Laura watched the other four mothers from under her lashes as she slowly sipped her coffee. She was the youngest of them, being only almost forty. The others were in their 40s and 50s. Hannah Broadwick was the oldest, having just celebrated her sixtieth birthday. Then there were Sandra, Amali, and Patricia.

It was good to be with them. Because they were all in the same plight, they understood each other. There was no need to explain to each other; that was good. Some things just could not be put into words.

Like the agony of waiting for news of a loved one in danger, and the agony of not knowing if you would ever see them again.

"We have to believe that they will be found, Laura." Hannah reached out to comfort her. "Our husbands are all very reputable detectives and very capable men. They will find and return our children to us."

"And they have caught him once before," Amali added.

"So we can be sure they will catch him again this time," Patricia finished in a fierce tone.

The five of them stared at each other for a while. Then they smiled, finally at ease with each other.

"Come," Sandra said. "Let's not let that little miserable excuse of a psychopath spoil our day. I say we start planning our gathering for when our very talented husbands take him down and bring back our kids to us, shall we?"

"I would prefer to think about what to do to that miserable excuse of a man for bullying our kids when our husbands drag him before us," Laura spat out before she could stop herself.

There was a moment of quiet.

Then…

"I would not mind taking a cleaver to him, now that you mention it, Laura," Sandra finally said.

"Me too. But I think a cleaver is far too nice; I prefer putting him to the rack," Amali chipped in.

"My, bloodthirsty, aren't we?" Hannah commented, her eyes twinkling a little. "I say that's far too easy still! What about…"

And the threats went on and on, getting more ridiculous as the list grew. Soon all five mothers were hunched over laughing hysterically at their own wildimaginations…

HBHBHB 

Con Riley smiled as he heard the laughter floating down from the cozy living room upstairs. It was good to hear those women laugh. They had handled themselves well and deserved what little joy they could find during these dark hours when all their flesh and blood children were missing.

He closed the door softly and returned to the kitchen.

Then he frowned as he returned his attention to the notes and the lists spread out before him on the table. There was something nagging at him, but he just could not figure out what that was. Something about the detectives themselves. Again, he went through the notes he made on the eight detectives.

**Mathew Broadwick**

_Wife: Hannah_

_Children: John_

**Mike Pontulous**

_Wife: Grenadine (deceased; car accident three years back)_

_Children: Michelle_

**Jude Lawson**

_Wife: Valerie (deceased; reason unknown)_

_Children: Yvonne_

**Emilio Carlos**

_Wife: Sandra_

_Children: Enrico, Eduardo, and Eleonora_

**Kane Smith**

_Wife: Amali_

_Children: Arthur_

**Gaby West**

_Wife: Patricia_

_Children: Rosalyn, Richard_

**Madeline Florence**

_Husband: Harry Florence (deceased; terminal cancer ten years back)_

_Remarried to Jack Nashel (also deceased; boating accident two years back)_

_Children: Marianna, Drusilla (from first husband)_

**Fenton Hardy**

_Wife: Laura_

_Children: Joe, Frank_

Eight detectives and five spouses, Con mused.

Then he froze.

Thirteen years ago, thirteen agents were kidnapped over thirteen months to be killed, but one survived. The psycho responsible was believed dead.

That was what he was told.

Thirteen years later, the thirteen kids of those eight detectives and their living spouses were taken.

Eight and five made thirteen… 

Was that last thirteen just a coincidence? Or was it part of a grand plan of some sort? Con wondered. A sudden unease began to form in his guts. He reached for his cell phone.

_Of course it could all be coincidental!_ he told himself.

Still, something about those numbers bothered him.

There was no way that Candyman, whoever he was, would know that three of the detectives' spouses would be conveniently dead thirteen years after the original incident, would he? Con reasoned out logically to himself as he dialed Fenton's cell phone number.

He started to pace about the kitchen. _Come on, connect_…he grouched at his phone. While waiting, he took a glance out of the kitchen window.

_Time flies! It's already nightfall…_ Con commented to himself.

He waited patiently for his phone to make the connection. _Come on, Fenton, pick up the phone…._

_Nightfall? Wait a minute… where did that word come from?_

_"The number you are trying to contact cannot be reached at the moment. Either you have the wrong number or the cell phone is currently switched off…" _His cell phone said to him.

Damn! That stupid FBI building must be jamming cell phone and radio signals for security reasons! He started to feel his heart beat just a little bit faster. He took several deep breaths.

_Don't be silly!_ Con scolded himself as he reached for the house phone instead to call the FBI New York Headquarters.

Yes, it connected.

He could hear the ringing tone.

Click.

_"If you know the extension number, please press one…"_

Con's lips tightened into a straight line. No, he had no idea where Fenton might be in that very big FBI complex in New York City.

_"If you know the full name of the person you want to contact, but don't know the extension, please press two…"_

Con glared at the phone before him wishing he could shake some sense into it. That was not a valid option for him either, since it was clear Fenton was not a FBI staff member.

_"If you are calling to report any suspicious sightings or a crime you witnessed, please press three…"_

This time, Con cursed.

_"If you…"_

Con started swiveling around, trying to see beyond the shadows about him. He had this very bad feeling in his guts…

The one-way electronic phone message droned on and on.

_"If you wish to speak to the operator, please press 8…"_

FINALLY!

Con pressed 8, and forced himself to be patient. His eyes continued to scan his surroundings.

_'Nightfall…'_ the air seemed to whisper to him.

He shivered.

The operator answered. He asked for Fenton Hardy. He was told no such person existed on the FBI staff list, of course. Con slapped his own head lightly with his open palm in frustration. What was he doing?

He asked for Maxwell Kendall instead, and was told that the director was not available to take calls.

Was it his imagination, or was the air around him getting heavier and stuffier?

Again Con forced his thoughts off his immediate surroundings back to the phone call. He needed to get to Fenton.

"Well, get to Maxwell!" Con almost yelled back at the operator. "Tell him it's about the top priority Candyman case, dammit!"

Con did not realize, but his breathing was becoming deeper, heavier, and raspier.

"If you can't get Maxwell, then get me another person who is involved in that case. I need to speak to Fenton Hardy…NOW. It's an EMERGENCY, you hear me?" Con spat into the mouthpiece.

He was yelling. Con suddenly realized, bemused. He was actually yelling!

And…_Emergency?_ Again, where did that come from?

Con's heart was pounding furiously now. _Come on, Fenton, get to the phone…_

_"Please hold the line…"_the operator said in a calm and dispassionate voice.

Con bit down hard on his lips to stifle the unbearable urge to scream into the phone. _Come on, someone get me to Fenton now_…. Con felt a burning sensation at the back of his eyes.

He blinked.

His behavior was so unnatural! Con realized, but he could not seem to be able to do anything about it. How could he, when he didn't know what was wrong?

"Hello, this is Agent Cassandra here…" 

"I need to speak with Fenton Hardy NOW," Con yelled back. Or was he sobbing? No, he was babbling. _Please…_ he pleaded.

_"I am going to get him now, okay? Please stay calm, all right? Take a deep breath…"_

He could hear the soothing feminine voice from the other end of the line repeating the same words over and over.

He struggled to breathe. He could feel his sweat pouring down his back.

Finally that so-familiar voice:_"Fenton here…"_

Then there was silence, deep and bottomless. The phone line was cut.

And the lights went out.

* * *

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	12. The House on the Hill

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman **

By Jolly

Chapter 11

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

Fenton, like the others, was staring at the TV monitor before them in disbelief. That was impossible!

They were watching the video recording of the security cameras during the time when the unknown agent delivered that package to Arthur Gray.

There was no one there. Then, there, in the space of a heartbeat, Gray was holding that package in his hand.

They went through all the other recordings too. The recordings from security cameras that led into this very room, and all relevant recordings of all alternative routes from this room, to all potential entry points into the building. It had taken them precious hours, even with all the work divided up among them. They even double and triple checked each other, not because they did not trust each other's work, but because they all knew they were tired and were all more susceptible to human error now more than before.

Then there were the FBI agents assisting them who also did their own checks of the videos. They questioned almost every staff member who was on the videos, asking if they remembered seeing any strangers.

Nothing.

The technicians had gone over the recording several times. The recordings had not been tampered with, they swore.

"It must have been!" Fenton muttered angrily. "It's just that those bunglers refuse to admit that they're not good enough to figure out the security breach."

Fenton could see that a number of his fellow detectives had the same thoughts as he. It was galling that their current enemy had the technological capability to breach the security of FBI headquarters so easily.

His best friend, Maxwell, looked downright embarrassed and furious.

"This has to be the work of more than one person," Madeline stated, her lips drawn tight into a grim line.

"Agreed," Jude concurred.

The others simply nodded their heads in affirmation, their expressions equally grim. Fenton knew they were beating themselves up for failing to question that mysterious agent who made the delivery, just as he was. That mysterious agent could so easily be the Candyman himself, they all thought. And that knowledge ate away at their consciences. Now they could only hope that their mistake would not cost their children's lives.

"Are the test results for those candy pieces back from the labs yet?" Mathew enquired.

"No, not yet…they're rushing it, but it'll take at least another hour if not more," Maxwell informed them in a grim voice.

"I've completely dismantled this 'candy-launcher'. It's fully constructed out of items one can obtain from any hardware store…" Sam said, and then he hesitated a little before turning to his partner. "Fenton…"

Fenton quirked his brow at his long time partner and managed to appear suitably curious, even though he knew what was coming.

"… from the placement of the fingerprints, I would say Joe built this contraption," Sam finished what he had to say. "Fenton, you know both Frank and Joe are capable of constructing something like this."

Fenton gave a curt nod. Yes, he knew his sons were capable. He ignored a number of sympathetic looks sent his way. He ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. He was getting anxious, and nervous, and frustrated. Not to mention worn-out. He wondered why Joe built it. Was Frank threatened? Well, at least the 'candy-launcher' turned out to be a relatively harmless 'toy', Fenton consoled himself. It could have been Frank building a bomb…

He shivered. Frank wouldn't, would he?

The father shoved those thoughts away. Now was not the time to play the game of what-ifs. They had to work out where their children were being held and free them before the past repeated itself.

But the bad news was they were all at a dead end for the moment. They had nothing more to go on.

That's not quite true, Fenton suddenly realized. Turning to his best friend, he requested, "I would like those original video recordings. I would like to let Phil Cohen, from Cohen Tech Solutions, take a look at them. Maybe he can come up with something."

Fenton saw that Maxwell was about to deny his request, so he let his anger came to the fore. "Come on Max, what have you got to lose? They ARE good. You have seen their work. The Cohens are close family friends, and Phil's Frank's best friend." Then the father pleaded, "Max, please, it's my kids out there…"

Finally, to his relief, Max gave his approval. Sam, bless him, quickly moved to pack the recordings for delivery to Phil Cohen before Max could change his mind.

The door burst opened, and a female agent rushed in. "An emergency call for Mr. Hardy," she rasped out.

Fenton grabbed the cordless from her. "Hello, Fenton here…"

The line was silent. Puzzled, Fenton turned towards the female agent. "There was no one on the phone," he told her.

But he felt a sense of dread slowly rising. His heart inexplicably started to bang hard against his ribs. His eyes were glued to her as he awaited her response.

"Agent Cassandra, who was that?" Max enquired for Fenton.

"It was a Con Riley looking for you, and he sounded really terrified…"

Fenton headed towards the door at a sprint. "The safe house's been compromised!" he yelled as he ran.

The pitter patter of footsteps behind told him the others followed.

**_HBHBHB _**

The house on the hill seemed to glow with an inner light as it stood, tall and proud in the pale moonlight. It beckoned to them, welcoming them into its embrace, as the dozen of cars and vans made their way up the few different winding roads towards it.

They all came to a stop just outside the driveway of that safe house.

The silence of their surroundings was expected. The phone lines to the house had been cut, and none of the four agents they had guarding the place had answered their cell phones or their CB radio.

They arrived almost thirty minutes later, expecting the worst.

In the distance, an owl hooted, followed by a short symphony by several crickets. And the wind hushed and whispered its approval after.

It all showed how loud the silence was.

For five detectives, the sound of silence was to be feared. It could mean everything to them. And in their hearts, they already knew it meant everything to them. But their rational brains simply refused to acknowledge that just yet.

Fenton exchanged looks with Sam and several other detectives and agents. They gave each other grim nods and headed towards their designated entry points and locations. They were all professionals here and knew exactly what to do.

Fenton beckoned to Sam, and the two of them moved towards the kitchen door, their hand guns held firmly before them. He gave Sam a quick nod before kicking the door wide open, and swiftly moved in, the gun again held before him.

Darkness and silence greeted them.

Fenton squinted hard against the darkness as he slowly made his way deeper into the shadows of the kitchen. He knew Sam was there covering his back.

Then his feet hit something. He looked down.

It was Con.

He knelt and swiftly checked Con for injuries. There were none, nothing he could see or feel, at least. His finger at the neck told him Con was still alive, and he let out a sigh of relief. He signaled for Sam to be on guard as he called for medical backup via his mouthpiece.

"One survivor found in kitchen, medical aid required…" he rasped out.

Fenton continued to scan his surroundings as he waited by his friend. It was the least he could do for someone who had so generously offered to help look after his wife.

But his heart and his mind were in turmoil. What happened? Was Laura okay? He wished he knew. Then he wished he did not have to know. For the first time in many years, he prayed for strength to survive the hours ahead.

Finally the paramedics arrived.

"They cleared the building, Mr. Hardy. Max said to meet him in the living room upstairs," the older paramedic said to him.

Fenton nodded and followed Sam up the stairs.

The others were already all there waiting for them. Fenton realized why. The primary crime scene sat before him, taunting him with the secrets it held hidden in its folds.

There was a large coffee table in the middle of the room. Right on the exact centre of it was a gramophone, and the vinyl disc on it was spinning. He moved closer. He could smell the tangy scent of ginger and sweets, and that pungent minty scent of licorice. He could now read the tag on the gramophone. 'Victor II Humpback 1909' it read. Then he thought he heard something. It was emanating from that gramophone.

It was that song.

His heart missed a beat. Or did it? It mattered not. It felt that way to him, and that was what mattered.

Next to the gramophone was a huge book made of sugar. He knew because he could smell it. He scanned the title: Hansel and Gretel

Fenton frowned. What was that supposed to mean? He knew he would be reading it later. Next to the huge book were several items that looked like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Like the previous two items, those pieces were also made of some sort of candy or sugar.

Laura would be able to tell the difference, Fenton thought. For him, they were only sugar and more sugar…

He looked closer at the jigsaw pieces. He noted the lines, the green for the trees, and the blue for the waters. It was a map of sorts, he grasped.

The Candyman had left a series of clues for them.

Finally his eyes fell on the five mugs of half-finished coffee scattered casually around the coffee table. And he knew all five wives were taken.

_No, not Laura too… _

**_HBHBHB _**

They were all back again at their designated room in the FBI building. The assembled map from the candied jigsaw puzzle sat in the centre of the huge conference table before them, mocking their inability to decipher its secrets.

The story of Hansel and Gretel had spooked the eight detectives far more than they cared to admit. And they wondered at the message behind the story. Fenton did not miss the way Max's eyes narrowed as he read the story aloud. He wanted to ask why, but Max was called away before he could.

Then there was that beautifully made (baked?) gramophone…

None of the four FBI agents or Con had been able to tell them what happened at the house. They were all currently unconscious or sedated. Two of the agents had awakened and were so terrified; their heart rates were going through the roof, so the medics had to put them under again.

And Con…Con was in slightly better shape than the others. He woke up with his eyes wide with fear, but he at least managed to retain some measure of control over his emotions when he saw Fenton and Sam sitting next to him. Fenton could not help but wonder why Con was better off than the others. But Con could not remember what happened, and Fenton felt a sense of futility threatening to overcome him. Con did not even remember making that desperate phone call to him.

"Fenton," Sam consoled him, "We still have Con's notes. Maybe there is something there."

Fenton gave Sam the slightest nod. It was all he could manage at that moment.

"Do you think that the clue that we assumed the Candyman accidentally left behind 13 years ago was deliberately planted?" Madeline suddenly asked.

The eight detectives stared at each other as they digested the possibility. If that clue was deliberate, it would change the entire picture of what happened back then. They would have to review the entire case again from a different perspective.

This time, the Candyman had made it clear. It was HE who left the clues.

"Suppose he left that clue for us to track him; why would he do that?" Gaby asked.

"What if we were meant to follow the clues he left, but we found them too early?" Fenton asked and watched all the expressions shift and focus on him. He suddenly felt a little excited. This was something else to consider, a possible but different angle they could work on. "What if we interrupted something else he had in mind; we would have spoiled his big plans…"

Fenton's voice faded off as the door opened.

Agent Cassandra walked in.

"The director has asked me to say that he had to attend an emergency meeting and to pass you the preliminary report from the forensic team on the crime scene," she announced in a rather apologetic tone. "He will join you as soon as he can."

Sam Radley reached for the report and quickly skimmed through it. Fenton did not miss the concern in his partner's eyes as he started to speak. "There are seven sets of prints in the safe house, other than those that were supposed to be there…"

Sam placed the list on the table, and everyone leaned over to read it. There were seven names on the list:

_John Broadwick _

_Eduardo Carlos _

_Enrico Carlos _

_Richard Smith _

_Arthur West _

_Frank Hardy _

_Joseph Hardy _

"That's crazy! Are you telling us our own kids kidnapped their mothers?" Gaby West blurted out, his face stark white with anger and fear.

Fenton simply stared at his sons' names, last on the list. That instant of excitement for figuring out a new angle was suddenly gone. He lowered his face into his palms. He was alone now, and he was just too tired to think.

* * *

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	13. Mama's Boys

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 12

MAMA'S BOYS

The darkness was receding.

Or was it?

She heard music.

It was soft and melodious. For a moment, she let the gentle vibrations of that so light-hearted tune caress and tease her still floating consciousness.

Did she know that song? Her face screwed into a frown. Was it the music?

Or was it that strange pungent aroma that was assailing her rather sensitive nostrils?

The fragrance was tangy, spicy, and so very familiar. She knew that smell.

Yes, it was ginger.

There was something else in the air.

She sniffed.

Such a sweet smell... such a sickeningly sweet smell.

She could almost taste the saccharine sweetness in the air as she drew her next breath through her mouth. She had wanted to stop smelling for a moment. She was starting to feel a little nauseous from the overdose of sugary scent and taste about her.

She moved; just a little.

That was all she could manage at that moment.

Sticky.

She could feel the stickiness on her arms; clammy and sticky.

It was as if she had gone swimming in a pool of maple syrup.

She swore she smelt maple.

Was she awake?

Yes.

She opened her eyes.

At least she tried.

Her lids flickered open for an instant, then snapped shut again.

She moaned. Her head felt like it was stuffed with warm moist cotton wool.

Cotton wool dipped in heavy duty syrup, she added wryly.

One deep breath; then she forced open her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered; blinked rapidly several times.

Finally, she could see.

The ceiling above her was brown and rough. The room was softly lit. She could barely see the walls. They seemed lost in the shadows beyond the foot of the bed. The bed was uncomfortable and sort of hard. Her head rested on something soft, fluffy, and sticky. She could feel the sweet stickiness in her hair. She could swear her pillow was a big tough marshmallow.

She stifled a sudden urge to giggle.

Something was not quite right, she knew.

Something hadhappened. What?

She was certainly not in a hospital. _It can't be too bad_, she reasoned.

Or she tried to reason. But her heart rate was certainly picking up.

Her eyes flicked upwards. The headboard of her bed was beautifully decorated with jellybeans and M&Ms and formed the picture of a little girl wearing a red hood in a forest.

That scene was so familiar! It reminded her of her childhood days so many years ago. Her own mother sat next to her by her bedside, reading from a big book with lots of beautiful illustrations, including one with a little girl in red carrying a basket.

Her eyes flicked right, then left.

There was no one there.

Was she dreaming?

No.

Her eyes were certainly open. She was definitely awake and aware.

Her heart pounded faster, and her breathing followed.

She tried to move again. This time, she realized two things and her eyes widened in apprehension. She was lying on the bed barely able to move. Her muscles seemed unnaturally weak.

_Anyone there?_ She wanted to yell out, but merely a whisper escaped her throat.

Her throat felt sore. It felt like she had been on a screaming marathon and had no voice left. She could even feel the pain now.

It was then she realized the music was gone, and silence surrounded her, enfolding her in its suffocating embrace. She bit down on her lips, but failed to stop a little squeak of a sob from escaping her lips into the silent room.

That little sob sounded loud – really loud, relative to the quietness.

Something moved in the shadows beyond the end of the bed.

Terror rose swift and uncontrolled. Then she saw who it was and she calmed down a little.

"Frank?" she whispered, and was surprised to hear the sound of her own voice.

In the silence of the room, her whisper carried clear as her normal voice. She watched as her eldest moved slowly towards her. It was him. Yes, it was definitely him. What mother would not recognized her child? Her eyes touched on his features, so much like his father, and she could feel her eyes tearing. It was happy tears. Her son was before her again, clearly alive and well.

"Frank, oh Frank…it's really you…" Laura murmured, feeling both happy and relieved.

Frank sat down on a seat next to her bed and quietly looked down at her; she could see the concern in his expression.

Why was he quiet?

"Are you all right? What's going on, Frank…?" Laura asked timidly when her eldest failed to react to her initial greeting. She could not prevent a little quaver in her voice.

"Don't worry, mama, everything will be fine," Frank reassured her in a gentle tone.

She relaxed a little more. If Frank said everything would be fine, it would be. She could trust her son, right?

"What happened, Frank? Where have you been? And have you seen Joe?" Laura asked.

"Nothing happened that should not have happened, mama." Frank told her gently. "And Joe is here with me, mama."

"What…where…" 

Laura had to admit she was feeling a little overwhelmed by the current situation. She took several deep breaths. Frank was here, so everything should be all right. She watched her eldest turn towards the shadows beyond the bed, a little smile on his face. It was that smile Frank always had for his little brother.

And that was a good sign…right?

A figure stepped into the light. It was her younger son. Joe. How she missed ruffling his golden hair and seeing his vibrant blue eyes that were always sparkling with laughter and mischief. But her younger son's eyes were still hidden in the shadows.

He moved towards them, and came to a stop behind Frank, his hand resting on his brother's shoulder.

"I'm here, mama…" Joe said soothingly to her.

She could feel the tears forming. They were tears of joy. Both her children were here with her again. They were both before her; both of them, who were the lights of her life. Laura wished she could reach out to touch them, but she was too weak. So she just lay there and looked, and smiled her joy. They were both alive and well, and she was with them. And Frank, of course, Frank would always find his brother. They were inseparable.

She closed her eyes, knowing her sons were there looking after her.

Suddenly she remembered.

Fenton.

She turned to her sons.

"Frank, Joe…your father…"

"…will be here soon," Frank answered smoothly. "Papa will be here soon…"

_Papa?_

"You must be thirsty, mama," Joe suddenly said. "Here, have a drink…"

_Mama?_

Laura watched as Joe moved to seat himself next to her on the bed, a mug held in his hand. It was almost like when she was sick a while back, and her sons took turns caring for her and pampering her. Yes, her sons were great kids.

"Have a drink, mama," Frank coaxed her as he reached out to lift her upper body and supported her so she could sip more easily from the mug. "Sip slowly, mama…"

They were so gentle, both of them. She drank. It was hot chocolate, lovely rich hot chocolate.

"But now you must rest, mama." Joe told her after she was done, as he helped Frank settle her back into the bed.

"Thanks," Laura managed to mumble out. She suddenly felt tired.

"It's okay, mama," Frank said to her. "Children are supposed to look after their parents. Just like parents are supposed to look out for their children."

Laura smiled at that. But she also wondered at it. It sounded very reasonable, but…

"Fenton…" 

"Papa will be here soon, mama." Joe said comfortingly. "And everything will be fine…"

Suddenly, both her sons stilled.

They both tilted their heads marginally, as if listening intently for something. They were so alike, both of them. She wondered what they were listening for. Then she thought she could hear it too. A melody, one that sounded so haunting and sad, yet she knew it should be a cheerful song.

_Why?_

She looked to her sons for answers. They were still listening to whatever that was.

Finally, Frank moved.

"We have to go, mama," Frank said as he leaned down to give her a kiss on her forehead. "I love you, mama."

She could see his eyes for the briefest moment, then Frank stood up.

"Yes, we have to go," Joe echoed his brother then added. "But you must rest for now, mama."

Joe pulled up the covers over her.

"Why? What's happening?" Laura could not help asking even as she struggled to gather her thoughts. She did not want her sons to leave; she wanted the comfort of their presence.

"We have to go to wait for papa," Joe said to her gently as he patted the covers down and carefully tucked her deeper into the bed.

"Why?" She managed to get another word out.

It was a struggle to stay conscious now.

"To make sure he gets a proper welcome," Joe told her as he leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead, just like Frank did.

"The sins of the past must be cleansed, and then we can all go home." _That was Frank_, Laura thought a little dazedly.

"And I love you too, mama," Joe whispered into her ear before standing up, and added in an almost regretful tone, "But we must go and ready ourselves for papa. He will be here soon…"

She stared for a brief moment at her younger son's deep blue eyes, and then that moment was gone. _No, don't leave me here alone_…she wanted to cry out, but she could not.

So Laura watched in trepidation as both her sons moved back into the shadows. Then she heard the sound of a door closing. The soft bang echoed about the small room. She could see the light about her fading...until all that was left was the pin-prick of a spotlight seemingly so far above her.

Only then did she realize what bothered her.

It was her sons' eyes.

They were empty, soulless, orbs that belied the range of expressions on their faces and their actions.

But there was no time for her to think or feel. That thought, as quickly as it surfaced, was gone. And Laura allowed the darkness to claim her once more.

* * *

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	14. Who Can Take a Sunrise

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 13

WHO CAN TAKE A SUNRISE?

Dawn was approaching, but there would be no dazzling sunrise this day. Dark clouds, thick and stormy, sat heavily on the skies above him. No golden morning rays would be able to break through that.

Who can take a sunrise?

THEY could. They took his sunrise! THEY would pay.

Sunrise was always the hardest part of the day for him. Every single sunrise reminded him of the last time he saw his sister. Every sunrise reminded him of his failure, of his broken promise.

No! He was not yet a failure. And he had not yet broken his promise.

In fact, he would soon fulfill his promise…

He walked back towards the house. The wind blew and the fallen leaves swirled carelessly about his feet as he walked. He could hear their soft scratchy whispers bewailing their valueless existence as they scraped roughly against the cement pathway.

He made his way into the house and headed straight for his office. His hand reached into his breast pocket and he withdrew his iPhone. A spark of white flashed across the screen. An image began to form. It was a fairly spacious but brightly lit room. There was a number of people sleeping, sprawled in various awkward positions about the room.

He focused his attention on the one lying seemingly comfortably at the corner of the screen on a makeshift bed. His eyes narrowed. The veins at his temples began to throb.

The figure on his little iPhone screen started to move restlessly, as if in discomfort. Then the eyes opened. The figure sat up…

**_HBHBHB _**

Arthur Gray stirred.

There was something calling to him from the edge of darkness. Gray squinted against the darkness. At first there was nothing. Then he thought he saw something, just hovering quietly right at the dark edges of his mind. He could not be sure. Something moved from the shadows. He could feel the terror coming at him in waves, radiating outwards from the heart of darkness in front of him.

Gray turned and ran, his heart racing madly. He ran faster and faster and his heart sped up too. It was beating so fast it was as if the heart was not beating at all.

His heart burst. No, his heart did not burst. It just felt that way.

His eyes opened and Gray sat up.

Gray took a sweeping look at the room about him. He could see a number of people sleeping sprawled about in various uncomfortable positions around the room. Then his eyes fell on the items on the mahogany table.

Something clicked at the back of his mind. He got off his makeshift bed and moved towards the table. He could see the assembled jigsaw puzzle before him. He stared at it for a moment.

And he knew.

He started to giggle.

It started off softly, like the merest whisper. Soon, his shoulders were shuddering, as if from suppressed mirth. Then a squeak of a sharp wailing laugh escaped his lips.

He was _The Thirteen_.

A haunting tune started to fill the room. The Thirteen tilted his head and acknowledged the horned gramophone. The black licorice disc started to spin a little faster. The music grew just a fraction louder. The Thirteen hummed along with the good old gramophone. Every now and then, a painful giggle could be heard above the hum of that sweet melody.

Slowly but surely, he collected the various items from the laboratory corner of the room. How he knew what to get was irrelevant. How he knew what he was going to do was also irrelevant.

After he collected all the necessary items, he returned to the table and got down to work. He sang, hummed, and giggled as he worked.

**_HBHBHB _**

It was the music that woke him.

Or was it the giggle?

Fenton was trying to wake up but the chains of sleep kept him prisoner. He was tired. He could feel sweat on his back and his heart beating a little faster than normal. His over-stressed mind registered a song playing in the background. He felt anger rising. No, it was more than anger. He shivered, and then cursed at his own uncontrollable reaction to that song. It was fear and fury combined. He hated that song. It gave him the chills even though he could never rationalize why.

Whoever was humming that tune would be getting it from him! Fenton swore as he struggled to free himself from the chains of sleep. He opened his eyes…

A movement on the edge of his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned his head and was surprised to see Arthur Gray on the move about the room, humming that hated tune as he went.

That was strange, Fenton thought. Gray had been totally unresponsive ever since seeing that glass container with the thirteen candies within. Not that it made much of a difference; Gray was already close to catatonic after seeing that lollipop and recalling that he killed the other twelve. Fenton wondered if they would ever know what really happened. He wondered if Gray would ever recover enough to tell them.

Now Gray was moving about the room. Fenton noted that something was not quite right about the way he moved. It was jerky, almost as if he was a marionette. For some reason, Fenton felt that if he focused hard enough, he could almost see the invisible strings being pulled and jerked as Gray danced across the room. Fenton felt a shiver of fear ran through him.

And Gray was humming that darned song. Fenton could not suppress another shiver working its way up his spine. But he continued to watch Gray.

Fenton realized by now everyone in the room was awake and watching Gray with him. He placed his finger to his lips and indicated that they should observe in silence. Everyone agreed. They slowly moved towards the table to get a clearer view of what was happening.

Gray did not seem to notice them as he worked to dismantle the assembled jigsaw and proceed to reassemble the pieces. Perhaps Gray did not care. As far as Fenton could see, the new assembly made no sense either.

Suddenly, Gray started to sing out loud as he worked.

_Who can take a sunrise? _

Gray turned a powerful spotlight on the reassembled jigsaw.

_Sprinkle it with dew. _

Gray sprayed some clear liquid on the reassembled jigsaw. Fenton watched amazed as the lines began to blur and shift.

_Cover it with chocolate, _

Gray placed two sheets of brown paper on top of the reassembled puzzle and gently patted it down onto the candied jigsaw.

_A miracle or two… _

Gray removed the two sheets of paper with the new map imprinted on the papers, and handed them both to Fenton.

Was it specifically for him? Fenton wondered. Or was it merely because he was nearest to Gray? The latter, Fenton finally decided. The alternative was just too unnatural for him to contemplate at the moment.

Suddenly Gray stopped singing. The silence that followed was deafening. All the detectives in the room gave Gray their full attention. But Gray merely stared blankly ahead.

"Gray?" Fenton finally asked in a tentative tone. "Are you all right?"

He did not want to shock Gray back into unresponsiveness if he could help it. There were so many questions that needed to be asked, the most recent being, how did Gray know what to do to get this map? And what was this map all about?

Gray continued to stare blankly ahead. It was almost as if his task was done and he shut down again.

The detectives glanced at each other, hoping someone would have an idea of what to do next. But no one did. Fenton took a quick look at the maps in his hand. They still made no sense to him. When he next looked up, he saw Madeline slowly leading Gray back to the bed, while still trying to get him to respond.

"I was The Thirteen," Gray suddenly said, shocking everyone. "The Thirteen was the scapegoat amongst all scapegoats. He shouldered the sins of all traitors. The Thirteen was the Judas of all Judases. He led the lambs to the sacrificial altar so the others could live."

Again the detectives exchanged looks with one another. They had no idea what that statement meant.

Suddenly Fenton gasped. Was Gray implicated in the kidnapping of all their children? He could hear several indrawn breaths and knew some of the others reached the same conclusion as he. He felt a sense of dread rising – and fear for his sons' lives and sanity.

Gray was a trained agent. One of the best produced by the government. The implications on what that might mean for his sons were unthinkable.

"Thirteen new lambs and Judases have been chosen, as has The Thirteen." Gray continued, still staring blankly ahead.

Fenton could see some of the detectives had their fists clenched so tightly they were white and trembling. He was glad they did not give in to the baser impulse of simply grabbing Gray and shaking the answers out of him. Gray was clearly the victim here.

They waited. There was more to come. They knew. They just knew.

"If you wish to see your children alive, come together and come alone," Gray said.

Together and alone? The detectives exchanged puzzled glances.

Gray turned his eyes to the digital clock on the wall.

"The time now is 7:55 a.m." Gray said. "Synchronize your watches. At 7:58 a.m. the cameras outside this room will be turned away, and you can make your way straight down the corridor towards the emergency exit without being recorded. At 8:02 a.m. sharp, the cameras in the emergency stairwell will be disabled for three minutes. At 8:04 a.m. sharp, the cameras in the corridor on the ground floor will be disabled for four minutes and you will take the right turn and head towards room G108. At 8:07 a.m. the door to room G108 will be unlocked and the cameras within disabled for 10 minutes. Close and lock the room behind you. At 8:09 a.m. the window alarms will be disabled. There will be a glass cutter by the window. There will be two cars in the alley beyond that window with further instructions."

The moment Gray finished his lines, his eyes closed and he collapsed onto the floor in an ungraceful heap. Gray was not the only one. To Fenton's horror, Sam Radley also collapsed. Fenton let out a cry as he reached out towards Sam and managed to break his friend's fall. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he felt the pulse beating strongly and confirmed that Sam was breathing fine. But he could not revive his partner despite going through everything he knew from his advanced first aid course.

What just happened? Fenton wondered but his mind drew a blank. Then he felt a feminine hand pulling him towards the door.

"Come on Fenton," Madeline gritted out. "We have less than a minute..."

"Sam will be fine," Mathew tried to reassure Fenton as he synchronized his watch. "It's the eight of us he wants, and we better move if we are to make the schedule."

Fenton gave his partner one last look before moving towards the door, tuning his watch as he moved.

"Sorry Sam," Fenton whispered a little guiltily. "I hope you understand, buddy."

He folded the map Gray had given him and secured it in his pocket and then he waited for Mathew's signal. At 7:58 a.m. sharp, Mathew opened the door and the eight detectives made their way swiftly and professionally down the corridor as instructed.

They met no one along the way. The FBI building was unusually quiet, even for this early hour in the morning. It made Fenton feels like hollering out a word or two just to see if someone, anyone, would come running. He did not, of course. His sons' lives were at stake here. There was no one to watch them make their way down the corridor and then rush down four floors to the ground floor. At 8:04 a.m. they opened the door and headed towards room G108.

Kids… With the exception of Joe, every other 'kid' was a legal adult, Fenton mused as he followed Mathew. Mathew was the oldest among them, and currently the de facto leader.

The grim expressions on each of the eight detectives' faces hid their shared terror [each felt. They knew there was something unnatural about the whole situation. Instead, they focused on finding their children. Five of them were also seeking their wives. All eight of them were alone now, their families stripped from them. They knew they were walking into a trap, but what choice did they have?

They had no choice. None at all….

**_HBHBHB _**

Two cars rushed out of the little alley behind the FBI building and soon disappeared into the busy morning traffic.

In the distance, a flash of lightning streaked across the darkened sky. A moment later, a rumble of thunder followed.

The horned gramophone on the mahogany table started to play again, but its music went unheard and unnoticed.

_Who can take the sunrise? _

The black licorice disc spun faster and faster and the rest of the song became for a while, gibberish.

And then:

_The Candyman, _

_Oh the Candyman can… _

Maniacal laughter emanated from the horn.

A second later, a small explosion could be heard coming from one of the upper floors of the FBI building. Two windows on the fourth floor shattered and dark smoke came pouring out.

The fire alarm started to screech and a small crowd gathered in the streets below.

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	15. Children of the Gingerbread House

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 14

CHILDREN OF THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE

_He sat there alone and dreamed of his sister. He sat there smiling as he imagined himself seeing his sister again. _

_And while the Candyman dreamed, the Children of the Gingerbread House ran and sat and screamed. _

**_There were glimpses of events that made no sense. _**

She lost her. How could she, when she promised to look after her always? But she lost her, her baby sister. She could not deny it.

Now she was searching. She had been searching a long while now.

She had no idea how long she had been searching, but she knew it had been a long while.

Exhausted. She was totally exhausted.

She was giving up. She knew she shouldn't, but she was giving up. She had given everything and had nothing left in her. That was when she heard that voice in her head whispering sibilantly: _"Come my child, allow me…" _

**_A red haired woman, stumbling from room to room searching, always searching, till her bright green eyes turned dull… _**

He failed.

He choked back a sob as he stumbled on and on. It did not matter anymore where he was heading. It did not matter anymore where the others were. Someone he cared for very much was dead and it was his fault. It was his bright idea and it failed and he died. He loved him and he killed him with his so-called perfect plan. It was his fault.

It was his failure and it was his fault. That thought reverberated in his mind, obliterating all else. Nothing else mattered to him anymore.

Tears blinded him as he continued forward until he walked smack into something hard and cool. He stopped to stare uncomprehendingly at it for a moment. Something from that silvery surface called out to him. Something in that silvery surface beckoned to him. He peered into the silvery lightness and gasped. He pressed harder against the surface and was delighted to see a pair of familiar blue eyes set against the background of a familiar house beckoning to him.

The silvery surface shimmered, and he pushed through to grab his beloved brother in a bear hug. He was home with his loved ones and he was happy to stay there for a long, long time.

**_A dark haired and dark eyed lad, stepping away from a mirror with blank eyes… _**

She thought she'd put all those memories behind her, but somehow they surfaced again. Those spirits were coming for her for vengeance.

She said she would replace that damaged part. But she forgot. She forgot and there was an accident. People died.

They told her it was an accident, but she knew.

She knew.

She saw shadows coming from the walls towards her. The shadows were coming for her. Her elder sister could not protect her this time. She scrambled into a corner and curled into a ball to protect herself. It did not work.

The shadows crowded in on her. There was nowhere for her to run. There was nowhere for her to hide. The shadows were all around her.

She screamed.

**_In the midst of an ancient forest, an edible Gingerbread House glows eerily in the pale moonlight… _**

Terror was coursing through him.

He could hear terrified screams from the other side of the door. That was his sister screaming for him. He redoubled his efforts to break down the walls. He kicked; he threw his full weight against the door. He thought he might have broken his shoulders but he ignored his pain his blue eyes bright with unshed tears and continued kicking. The door held.

Soon, the screams stopped. The silence was so much scarier.

He continued to work on the door. He continued yelling for his sister to hang on.

A long while later, totally spent, he sank slowly onto the ground, too tired even to cry.

**_There was a little girl with big bright teary eyes, in a strange dress, waving desperately to her brother… _**

She was panting for breath. She was being pulled down a long corridor by her brother. She was really too tired to run but her brother was urging her on. So she gritted her teeth and focused on putting her feet one before the other.

They were being chased. Something was chasing them. That something was not what she wanted to think about at the moment. She kept her eyes on her brother and just ran.

Then suddenly…

**_He knew he was sleeping, so he must be dreaming, and those disturbing images disturbed his thoughts… _**

He remembered there was a point in time when he was scared. He remembered there was a point in time when he could feel panic rising. That was when he was racing from room to room to room, trying to find a way out. That was when there was desperation in him still. He remembered that feeling of desperation. How the sense of despair slowly crept up upon him and before he knew it, everything about him seemed so hopeless.

He knew he was never going to see home again.

He closed his eyes and imagined he was home, working and sweating in the arid heat, his dark curls matted and dusty, sticking uncomfortably to his forehead…

**_Tired, he was tired and so he let those glimpses flash on as he let himself be led back deeper into dreamland… _**

She was wandering aimlessly from room to room.

It was always the same. In one door, and out through another. In one door, and out through another. And again, in one door, and out through another.

She was weary. She wanted to be, for awhile, a damsel in distress. She felt like just sitting down somewhere and bawling her heart out. She stifled a sob and angrily swiped away her tears. Tears were useless in this case.

"I am with the police academy, dammit! And nothing's gonna stop me from graduating!" She muttered grimly out loud as she forced herself to stand up again and to continue moving.

**_Before him was a dark haired girl with the sweetest smile… _**

The walls were closing in on him. He could feel the walls closing in on him.

_Please, Lord, let me find a way out…_ He prayed as he stumbled through yet another door into another room.

He could not help but notice that each room seemed to be getting smaller and smaller over time. Or was that his own mind playing tricks on him? He didn't know. He didn't know!

He knew one thing and one thing only. He needed to get out. And soon. Before his own mild case of claustrophobia overtook whatever was left of his good sense and left him a whimpering child.

Or worse.

He struggled to breathe as the rooms grew ever smaller. Then there, finally! A window at the end of the corridor! Sunlight! He could see blessed sunlight! He crawled towards it. Was it his imagination or was the window shrinking before his eyes? He crawled faster, and faster still. He ignored the pain in his arms and his hands. He gave all he had, but it wasn't enough. The window shrank and shrank into nothingness before his eyes.

The tears were streaking uncontrollably down his cheeks as he clawed wildly at the brown sticky walls. He gasped for air. He choked. It wasn't long before dark spots appeared in front of his eyes. He could hear cackling laughter as the dark spots grew ever bigger, obliterating his sight.

He did not even have a chance to scream.

**_Was he walking? Yes, he was dreamily following a dark haired youth before him. They just came out of a room together… _**

The three of them sat facing each other in an empty room; two females and one male. Each was trying to be brave but each could see the barely concealed fear in the other's eyes.

"We have to keep moving," said the light haired female, her voice quivering just a little.

The male nodded in agreement as he fought to repress a shudder. "No point waiting here and starving to death…"

"We have to find a way out before HE comes back," the dark haired female mumbled desperately as she stared at the other two. "I cannot take any more…" She crumbled. "I can't stand it; the smell, the music, the endless doors…"

The other two stared helplessly at each other. They had just lost possibly their best chance, they knew. They had made a concerted attempt to get out of the House, and had failed. Failed miserably, and now there were only three of them. That was all they could remember. Those two brothers were good; they were just like their fathers. But the house knew. The house knew and picked them off first. First the younger, then the elder. And soon it would be their turn…

"But damned if IT thinks that I am going down without a fight," the male swore. Turning to the other two, he told them in a firm voice, "Come on, we have to keep on trying. As long as we are still breathing, we have to keep on trying. It is as the brothers said; all it takes is one of us getting out and we win…remember? All it takes is one of us getting out and the House loses…"

'Bloody meaningless philosophical BS. but you know what, Frank? It works…' the male mused tiredly as he watched the dark haired female pick herself up and follow him towards a door…

He missed the fact he remembered a name.

**_How strange, to be sleeping and yet walking. He must be sleepwalking. Yes, that's a logical conclusion, he mused. Then he wondered who the woman in that room was… _**

He was running.

He ran from room to room.

He had been running for a long time now. How long he remembered not, but it was a long time. So long he could not remember why he ran.

He could not even remember who he was.

Did that matter? he asked.

Who was he asking? he questioned.

Someone, he answered.

Someone who? He wondered.

He slowed to a stop.

Why was he running? He asked again.

He was going to someplace, he decided.

_Yesss..._ Something whispered to him.

He tilted his head to one side and strained to hear beyond the soft music playing in the background beneath the background.

_You're almost there…_a sweet sing-song voice called out enticingly to him.

He looked up and saw a door before him. It was different from all the other doors. This door was a beauty. It shimmered and shimmered with colors and shadows. It opened and he walked through.

It was a large and spacious room. It was an empty room. There were strange markings on the floor. No, it was not truly empty. There was something at the end of the room. He walked to the end of the room and peered into the silvery surface. He saw a set of wild blue eyes staring back at him. But wait; there was something else beyond those two eyes. He stared harder into the silvery mist and he saw.

Twelve faces looked back at him, eyes pleading and mouths wide open.

He stared at them and then touched each of the faces in wonderment.

He was their Judas. He helped lead them there, directly or indirectly. How, he remembered not. But he remembered that at some point in time he was with some of them. He cared about them, helped protect them, but unbeknownst to them he led them there, one by one. He was their Judas, and soon, they'd all be Judases too.

One face stood out from the others. He recalled bemused a young serious face with wavy brown hair and soft brown eyes. It was the face of the last person he led there. He shrugged. Soon, he would forget that face, like the others before. It would become just another silvery face staring back at him, haunting his dreams.

He was damned, he knew. Somehow he could not dredge up the need to care what that really meant. But he saved all of them. Again, those few words meant nothing to him.

Who could save him now? he wondered without feeling.

A sound behind him alerted him.

He spun around and saw a strange man standing there by the door. The man was holding out something for him. He walked up to him and saw that it was a large red and white lollipop with a word written on it in black scrawling script.

_The Thirteen _

He took it and followed the strange man out of the door. And at the back of his mind, he heard a haunting tune. The musical words were a joy to his burdened soul:

_The Candyman can _

_'Cause he mixes it with love _

_And makes the world feel good _

_And the world feels good 'cause _

_The Candyman says it should… _

* * *

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	16. Crossroads

NOTE: Please proceed to Chapter 17. Some chapters split and rearrangement, but no impact on overall plot. Explanation in chapter 17. Thanks.

* * *

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 15

CROSSROADS

Fenton drove on and on, his hands clenched tight about the steering wheel. He was glad he had something to concentrate on, even if that something was simply driving forward on a straight road. He saw without really seeing the woods in the distance.

He had not been thinking for almost two hours now. He was in shock.

Fenton was still trying to digest what he heard over the radio, on the morning news. The announcement of the explosion at the New York City FBI headquarters had shocked everyone. But it had shaken him more than the others. The explosion and fires, according to the reporter, started in a room located on the fourth floor of the FBI building.

_'Oh my God, Sam…'_ That was his first thought.

He ignored all the sympathetic glances sent his way. He did not want them. He did not need them. Not now… He remembered scrambling to raise the volume of the radio, desperate for details. But there was no other useful information from that broadcast. The FBI, as expected, had refused to comment until they had a 'fuller picture' of what was happening.

He had left his partner behind; that was all Fenton could think about. That he, Fenton, had knowingly and voluntarily left his partner behind. He had left Sam behind knowing that the man was unconscious and vulnerable.

Oh God, how was he going to explain to Sam's wife? Edna…Edna, Laura's best friend….How was he going to face Edna?

Fenton had slammed his foot on the brake the moment he registered the details of the explosion. He wanted to turn back. May his sons forgive him, but for a moment, he wanted to turn back. He wanted to turn back even though he knew…

"What are you doing?!" He remembered Gaby yelling at him when he abruptly stopped the car.

Then there was Madeline. He remembered her talking to him in soothing tones "Fenton, the explosion was almost two hours ago. There is nothing you can do for Sam even if you turn back now. And we have to be there by noon. We all have to be there by noon…"

Fenton knew they did not have the time. Still he hesitated. His sons…Sam…Laura….And that was when he knew with absolute certainty he would always choose his family over all else, no matter the cost.

"Think of your kids, Fenton," he heard Gaby said to him, his tone pleading. "And mine, all our kids…"

_We're all so alike,_ Fenton thought. _Forgive me Sam._ But there was one more thing he could do to check. He picked up his cell phone and was about to turn it on when another hand stopped him. He looked up. It was Mathew.

"We are to go alone, Fenton. Alone…" Mathew reminded him, his eyes pleading and sympathetic. "If you turn on that phone, and make that call, they can track us."

"You know the FBI can track us. I don't trust them, Fenton. None of us here trust them." Madeline pointed out the obvious to him. Then she hesitated before continuing. "And as long as you don't know, you can hope…"

_False hope_, Fenton thought bitterly, but he acknowledged Madeline's appeal and gave a curt nod.

He continued his drive forward, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. He could hear the other three discussing theories regarding the two pieces of map that Gray had handed to him. He could tell from their tone that they were stumped, but he could not dredge up the will to join in the conversation at the moment.

He focused on his driving.

He could hear them wondering if the four detectives in the other car had any more successes than they, going through the old notes the eight of them had compiled over the last two days.

Was Frank gone six days already? Fenton mused sadly. Yes, he was and his younger son, Joe, had been missing a fortnight now. And then Laura was taken last night. Finally this morning…Sam…

His eyes misted and for a moment the road before him blurred. He blinked his tears away and tightened his grip on the steering wheel even more. Until his knuckles stood out white and stark against the dark gray of the steering wheel.

He drove on.

No! He was not alone yet. His family was still alive, he knew. He had a terrible feeling that this time he would arrive just in time to…he forcefully shuttered that thought away. His expression turned grim and determined. The last time, he and the others arrived perhaps a little too early and interrupted something. This time, he would make sure they arrived even earlier.

He sped up the car just a little.

They would have to. There was just too much at stake not to! His sons and his wife depended on him. He would not let his family down. He could not let them down! He growled, and blithely ignored the worried glances of the other three passengers in the car.

Then he remembered. How could he forget, he cursed! He'd forgotten all about Con's notes! He had not had the chance to study them in detail yet, but perhaps…

"Maddy?" He called out.

"Yes?" she responded, curiosity clear in her voice and on her face.

"There's a little notebook in my left jacket pocket, can you take it out?" Fenton told her, and then added gruffly: "it's Officer Con Riley's notes and thoughts on the case…maybe you can see something that I missed."

HBHBHB 

Two hours later, the two cars pulled to a stop at a crossroad in the midst of an aged forest. Fenton roused himself from his guilt trip. He had to literally force his fingers to release the steering wheel one by one. So tightly had he been holding on to it, his knuckles were bloodless.

They had arrived at their destination, marked by a red 'X' on the map provided with the car, Fenton thought a little listlessly to himself, as he followed the other seven in stepping out of their parked cars and onto the road.

It was noon, but it was warm and dark where they stood. The tall majesty of the age old pines had all but blocked out the light of the midday sun. The needle-like leaves rustled on the trees towering over them. A warm breeze swirled and twirled about them. No, it was warm, the air caressing them, welcoming them, Fenton mused as he stood with the others in the middle of a crossroad in the middle of nowhere.

They were alone.

The road ahead stretched straight until it disappeared into the far horizon. They looked back at the road from whence they came. The road stretched endlessly backwards until it too disappeared into the horizon. The same applied to the road to their right and their left. There was not a soul in sight. There was nothing there. Nothing that would tell them what they were supposed to do next or where to go next.

They exchanged mystified glances, then helpless shrugs.

Were they too late? Fenton wondered as a sliver of fear again coursed through him. It was the familiar old deep-seated fear for the safety of his sons and his wife. How strange it only took a few days for that feeling to become his intimate friend, always hovering about at the back of his mind.

Then he heard it. They all heard it. So soft at first they almost missed it.

Someone was humming that darned tune.

It was a girlish voice and it came from the forest before them, Fenton realized.

Then he saw her. They saw her. How could they miss? A little girl wearing a red cape with a red hood was happily skipping and humming as she glided out from the depths of the tall, thick forest. The little girl came to a stop at the edge of the forest, facing them.

A sidelong glance told Fenton the other detectives were as flabbergasted as he. For some strange reason, they all just stood there and watched the girl as she weaved her way towards them. Fenton managed to question why that was so. But strangely, his curiosity was not strong enough to compel him to move. So he stood with the others and watched.

She looked so small and so innocent.

What was this little girl doing here in the middle of nowhere? Fenton wondered. Then he had to fight a crazy urge to laugh. It was Little Red Riding Hood on her way to visit her grandma, he joked to himself.

Then Little Red Riding Hood lifted her head just a little and he could see the lower half of her pale face. Slowly, her scarlet lips curved into a smile. Fenton blinked. He felt suddenly warm and cold. Beads of sweat were starting to form on his brow. His back broke out into cold sweat. That was not a girlish smile but one full of dark promises that no sane man would want to contemplate even in the light of day.

His breathing deepened.

Fenton could hear the heavy breathings about him and knew the other men felt what he did. There was one indignant indrawn breath. That must be Madeline, Fenton decided. He had to rein in another crazy desire to laugh.

Then he stilled.

Little Red Riding Hood moved.

He watched in morbid fascination.

Slowly, so slowly, she lifted her left arm and silently pointed down the east road, her red cape fluttering softly around her.

Suddenly Little Red Riding Hood turned and ran back into the woods. It was that sudden movement which galvanized Fenton into action.

"Wait!" he shouted as he raced after her.

He tripped and landed on the red cape just off the edge of the road. A spike of pain spiraled from his chest up to his head. He had landed on something hard. He whipped the cape away. It was an old sturdy basket. He glanced around but the girl was nowhere in sight.

_Impossible_! A part of his mind whispered.

His peripheral vision told him the others were just as puzzled as he as to the vanishing act of the girl.

A local girl would know all the hidden niches in this forest, the logical bit of his brain reasoned.

Fenton personally preferred the latter reasoning.

But that smile? He shuddered but could not help the heat of desire rising in him. His face flushed warm.

_Careful, adultery is betrayal_…something whispered to him laughingly. An image of Laura flashed in his mind, followed by that of a much younger Madeline Florence.

Fenton almost dropped the basket. That was thirteen years ago and he was only tempted! They did not commit adultery! He had always been faithful to Laura…

His breathing grew heavier again.

_But you were tempted!_ The whisper was almost gleeful. _And that means you can be tempted again. You will betray her one day…_

For a moment, Fenton faltered.

Just as quickly he recovered. He turned down the temptation once, he would again. And again and again and again forever. There would always be prettier, sexier, wittier women out there. But none had given him twenty years of her life in total commitment, and none had given him two smart and loving sons any parents could be proud of.

He might be just a man, but he was no fool.

No, he would see and he would admire, but he knew that there was only one woman in the world he loved.

Reassured of his self, he ignored the mocking laughter at the back of his mind. Instead he looked into the basket. In the basket was a rolled-up red handmade envelope. The others had crowded around him, watching intently. He unrolled it and withdrew two pieces of transparencies with black markings on them. They were the same size as the two pieces of map that Gray had passed to him. He glanced up and Mathew swiftly handed him the two maps.

He randomly placed the transparencies over the two brown maps on the rough cement road.

He stared for a while at the mess of lines and patterns. It made no sense to him. He looked up. The others shook their heads, indicating it made no sense to them either. At Mathew's nod, he swapped the transparencies around. He focused on just one map and let someone else handle the other.

At first, those lines on the map before him seemed just as alien.

Something unraveled in his mind. Two sort of cubic-looking patterns stood out against those masses of lines and snagged his attention. There was something familiar about them, those two relatively big and darkened cubic shapes. Suddenly, the lines surrounding them felt familiar.

He felt excitement grow in him.

Then the excitement melted into a tumult of anger, fear, and almost despair.

He knew that map.

That bloody map was not drawn to scale! Fenton cursed. The others turned their attention on him. It was a map of Bayport, he told the others and watched the surprise on their faces. No wonder that cubic-like shape felt familiar to him. It was his home at the corner of Elm Street. And the other? Fenton traced the route from his home to the other darkened cubic shape. The other was the Bayport City Library! Fenton realized.

So Gray had specifically handed the maps to him, Fenton, after all. That thought chilled him but he forced it away. He could afford nothing but total commitment to finding his family at this point in time.

"Here, look at this one, Fenton." Mathew shoved the second map before him. "Do you recognize this map?"

Fenton examined the second map. It took him only a short while this time.

"That's the layout of Bayport City Library," he said decisively. "That bastard wanted to confuse us all by making it look like a map with roads and such," Fenton added angrily. So much time had been wasted!

"What about the numbers in the middle?" Madeline asked.

Fenton stared at the numbers in the shaded box in the middle of the second so-called 'map'.

**728097306VE31**

**404418-705217**

"If this second 'map' is the layout of the library, do you think the numbers could be either the ISDN or the Dewey Decimal System?" Gaby suggested.

"I think you're right, Gaby," Fenton concurred. "If I remembered correctly, that shaded room is where all the architecture and history books are located…and that's under the Arts section. And Art classification ranges from 700 to 799 in the Dewey Decimal System…"

"Okay guys, I think we might have a problem here," Kane called out in a worried voice. "It's now twenty past noon, and it'll take us at least four hours to drive back past New York City and to cross over to Long Island into Bayport…"

"And the Bayport City Library closes at 5 p.m." Fenton added as he and the others raced back to the cars.

"We'll meet at the main entry to the library…and remember whatever you do, _do NOT let yourself get caught for speeding_!" Fenton heard someone from the other car yell.

He nodded his head in grim agreement as he started the engine of his car, pulled it into reverse to make the turn, and headed back towards New York City. With a sinking heart, he knew whatever the next clue was in Bayport library, it would take them half an hour to figure out.

It felt to Fenton that the Candyman had everything planned and timed to perfection this time. And deep in his gut, he feared like he never feared before for his sons and his wife.

HBHBHB 

Max stormed out of the secret conference room with the two agents from Secret Service. He slammed the door behind him and ignored the potential consequences.

He had stood at the crossroads of his life and made his choice. There were more important things in life than a high flying career.

Perhaps they knew, perhaps they didn't. But they would not be able to act until they had concrete proof. He was, after all, the head of the FBI and not without his own resources.

Fury.

He could feel fury coursing through him, clouding all his thoughts and everything he saw before him in an ugly red haze. He had spent his entire life working his heart out and being loyal to the system that created him. He had at times ignored his own principles and made deals that he would not have if he had followed the path of his best friend, Fenton. He had worked his way up the ranks and made it as the youngest ever to head the FBI. He was so proud of his achievements. And he knew from his track record that his future with the Bureau still shone brightly before him.

But now those achievements felt like dust in his mouth. The light of his shining future felt like a painful and ugly yellow-stain glare that hurt all that looked into it.

A man must draw his line somewhere or he would lose everything he had worked against. He would lose everything he worked for. He would lose himself.

And he was angry it took him so long to come to that conclusion. He could only hope it would not be too late for his best friend and all those children. No, with theexception of Fenton's younger son, Joe, the rest were all adults now…but they were still someone's children. And as a father himself, he understood very well how each and every one of those parents felt. He would help them…

His thoughts cleared, he gathered his most trusted men about him. He had known those few for years. More importantly, he knew they were men of integrity and principles. That was why their careers were stymied until the day he took office. Now he turned to them for help, and as he expected, they rose to the occasion. Nevertheless he was touched by their selflessness. It made him feel selfish in comparison. Even after he explained how little information he had, how little time they had, and how little chance they had. He explained that they would be going against the Secret Service, and the effects on their careers. But they backed him still. Those were good men and good women out there, they said, and they had to free all those lost children. His eyes burned. They were good men.

Max glanced at his table calendar. Thirtieth of October, it said. He gulped and beads of sweat started to form on his brow. He really had no time left. They had to find the Candyman before the Secret Service did. The Secret Service would not be above sacrificing everyone in the name of their so-perceived national security.

Quickly, he issued his instructions, knowing that his men would carry them out with military precision. He ticked off his to-do list one by one. Collect Con Riley from FBI medical center. Get Chief Ezra Collig to help out. Gather all digital data and folders of recent forensic reports. Finally everyone was to meet at Cohen Technologies as soon as possible.

He watched the video of the last few minutes before the explosion for one last time before packing it for transport over to the Cohens. It showed everyone in the room sleeping, then the gramophone started to play, then came the explosion and the recording went blank. But Max knew they were all still alive, because of the well-cut window in room G108. It was cut so close to the edge that no one realized the clear glass window was gone until two punk kids made their way into the building.

He packed all the recordings and headed out towards his car. There were no more answers to be had within the FBI and its tall, fancy high-tech building. But perhaps the Bayport PD forensic team and Con and the Cohens could shed new perspectives and light on the case. And Phil Cohen, that computer whiz kid, hadalready told him that he was testing out a theory….

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**Please Read and Review!**  



	17. Into the Looking Glass

NOTE: Please proceed to Chapter 17. Some chapters split and rearrangement, but no impact on overall plot. Explanation in chapter 17. Thanks.

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**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 16

INTO THE LOOKING GLASS

_The Candyman sang and skipped his way merrily down the labyrinth of gingerbread corridors. The Children of the Gingerbread House followed behind him in a single file._

**He moved restlessly, his face screwed into a frown. His thoughts ran haywire; he dreamed silly kiddy dreams…**

They were all trapped in a house of some sort…

**He was seated on a comfy couch watching TV: He watched the trapped victims' multiple journeys through the Gingerbread House…**

Frank Hardy took a deep breath before reaching out to open the door right before him. He was currently in the Indoor Candied Playground. If he was correct in his assumptions, then the room before him must be the kitchen.

He needed to get into the kitchen.

_Please, let it be the kitchen!_ Frank pleaded.

_It has to be the kitchen!_ He muttered desperately as he slowly turned the door knob.

He was almost in tears and he knew it was because he was close to breaking point. Frank knew that some sort of psychological war was being wage over here, but he also knew that the human mind was a fragile thing. Intellectually knowing what was being done could not hold back the feeling of overwhelming hopelessness and terror threatening to overtake his good sense forever. He was all alone; and the candied environment, the sweet nauseous smell, the oppressive feel of being trapped were all working against him minute after minute. Soon cracks would appear in his mental walls. In fact he could already feel some of those cracks. He had to find a way out! And soon! Very soon!

Frank twisted the door knob, opened the door and walked through.

Mad relief flooded him.

It was the kitchen. He did it!

And more; so much more!

Before him was hope. He was not alone anymore.

**First give them hope…**

They were in the kitchen planning and plotting.

They were building something.

They were six. Then they were three, and then two…

**Divide and conquer, he watched and he mused.**

Frank stood on top his brother's shoulders as his fingers worked carefully affixing the last of his home-made kitchen-chemistry bombs to the ceiling.

"Hold steady now Joe," Frank told his brother as he add the finishing touches.

Joe's only response was a grunt.

"Okay, now to fit in the fuse…" Frank muttered.

Michelle handed him a length of twine that she had soak in cooking oil at his instructions. Frank had to hide his smile at Michelle's rather shocked look. He could see that she was disturbed by the fact that he had just constructed four little bombs out of simple everyday kitchen gear.

She's probably wondering what sort of a parent would allow their kids to learn such knowledge and worrying about their bad influences on him and Joe, Frank mused. It was easy to guess how a Social Worker might view his actions.

Meanwhile, Yvonne was anxiously watching the door for any signs of John and Enrico returning. They had gone for another run around the house just to test out Frank's theory. If they followed the instructions to the letter, and encountered the same order of rooms, AND successfully find their way back into the kitchen, THEN there was a good chance his theory was right.

And they would attempt to blast their way out through the ceiling.

"Are you absolutely certain, Frank?" She could not help but to ask the moment Frank leapt off his brother's shoulders.

"Don't worry Yvonne," Joe told her with a confident smile. "My brother would never do something this risky if he's not confident!"

Frank had to smile at his brother's confidence in him. At the same time, he could not but help feeling more and more anxious. What if he was wrong? He could just as easily cause a collapse and had them all buried alive.

But they had no choice. Time was running out. They would all die anyway. So they had voted to take the risk to blast a way out instead.

The door opened, and John and Enrico marched through, wide smiles on their hopeful faces.

"The order of the rooms was all that you expected them to be, Frank!" Enrico crowed.

"Good work, kid," John said. "I think we can definitely take that risk."

Frank smiled. He felt the weight of fear melt off his shoulders.

**Only to crush that hope totally…**

They were hiding behind makeshift shelters. The four males exchanged a grim look before each lighting the fuse before them.

Frank watched as the spark caught and the fire swiftly burned its way upwards. He tensed, ready to dodge under the shelter the moment the fire neared the homemade explosive.

There were just so many things that could go wrong. And he needed the four bombs to go off at approximately the same time. But he had re-worked the scenarios so many times that he knew he could only pray now. He was certain he made no mistakes given the information he had gathered.

The four sparks burned even closer to its objective.

"Okay, everyone, GOOD LUCK!" someone yelled.

Frank saw Joe giving him a 'thumbs up' before disappearing behind the table with Enrico.

Then he felt it.

The room slowly moving.

CRAP.

He forgot.

Time.

He forgot the Timing. He forgot all about the rhythm of the house.

He burst out from his shelter and raced desperately for the burning fuses.

"Kill the fire… KILL the FIRE!" He yelled.

But he was too late.

The spark leapt onto the explosive and BOOMZ.

Frank was flung backwards. He watched in horror was the orange flames rolled outwards from the source and towards him. He could see the ceilings crumbling right above Joe, and watched horrified as both Joe and Enrico scrambled desperately to get out of the way.

Then someone was dragging him away from the fires.

He fought against that all the way.

**How he loved watching horror movies…**

He was alone, Frank thought dully as he worked his way slowly and painfully through the aftermath of the ill-planned explosion.

There were no one left but him. He knew with a certainty from the depths of his soul. He had been searching for hours now.

He killed them all.

It was his plan, so it was his fault.

He killed his brother.

The physical pain from his injuries was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

He could not take it. He ran.

**Poor boy, his heart hurts for him too…**

He failed.

He choked back on a sob as he stumbled on and on. It did not matter anymore where he was heading.

It was his fault.

He hurts, and so he ran.

In one door, and out another door, and then in the next door.

Tears blinded him as he continued running until he ran smack into something hard and cool. He stopped to stare uncomprehendingly at it for a moment. Something from that silvery surface called out to him. Something in that silvery surface beckoned to him. He peered into the silvery lightness and gasped. He pressed harder against the surface and the silvery surface shimmered.

When the body finally stepped away from the huge wall-sized mirror, the eyes were vacant.

And in the mirror, two persons exchanged a bear hug. Soon, a dark haired youth was happily playing ball with another fair-haired youth.

**He shivered.**

**"Here darling, have some more of my homemade gingerbread cookies!" a sweet feminine voice called out to him.**

**He turned and smiled lovingly at the dark haired pixie faced girl holding a tray filled with warm cookies.**

**"Thank you, darling." He smiled and took a bite.**

**His eyes returned to the TV screen before him. He frowned. That dark-haired youth felt familiar to him…**

**His dark-haired beauty snuggled into his arms beside him. He was happy man. He loved her, he knew.**

**He loved her. He loved… who?**

**Something tickled the back of his mind. He loved… he loved…**

**Finally! He remembered!**

**"I love you, Iola." He told her with a smile.**

**The pixie face stared back blankly at him.**

**"I loved you, darling." He tried again.**

**She smiled back at him lovingly.**

**His heart started to pound.**

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**As usual... I plea for reviews ...**

**Note: below contains some discussion points on happenings in the gingerbread house and some discussion points. Do not read if you're not interested in risking spoilers.**

This Gingerbread story: I wanted to try a Horror without Gore; without use of explicit gruesome details to illicit horror given a Candyman. I wanted the curveballs to carry interest without the readers going oh-no-poor-Frank/Joe-got tortured/beaten to a bloody pulp or carved up like a christmas turkey. lol - am I setting too high a bar for myself? I wanted a multi-layered story such that a reader can choose to read for the sheer enjoyment alone, or choose to participate in the puzzles buried within. But want and ability are of course two very different matter. And I appreciate you guys for staying to tell me what went wrong rather than just abandoning the story - that is the most valuable thing I got from posting this story - help and directions to make it even better than when I first started with it. Your participation was very very much appreciated. 

Back to that confusing Children of the Gingerbread House chapter: At the enjoyment level, it was only meant for letting the reader know what was happening in the house, what those trapped are going through. Identity was 'unimportant' in that sense. But for those who wanted to get their hands dirty, that chapter is the puzzle of this story. Chapter 12, plus Con's notes, plus the 13 gingerbread men, plus what Fenton remembered about the 8 civilian detectives, should be enough for one to work out who is who,and confirm who is The Thirteen. lol - yeah someone figured out... and even pointed out my mistakes in the puzzle. I was so embarressed.

Then for the chapters on the happenings in the Gingerbread House, But it was also planned that the reader can read for mood and atmosphere alone... But I must admit I was trying out some TV effects from movies like 21 grams and Memento. Ultimately, the Gingerbread house chapters can be ripped out and read on their own, and the Fenton chapters can be ripped out and read on their own. . Yeah, I was hoping for something that can be enjoyed several times over - in different ways.


	18. Fairy Tales and Castles

Hi, here's the next bit. Again I apologize for taking a while.

Firstly, I've been stuck trying to get my Space-opera of a story into a continue-able state. So, Bhar – I got it there . Sorry, but this 3rd story is really the hardest of the lot since unlike the last two parts, this bit deals with 2 time-frames and 2 universes. So please forgive my slowness.

Then I got stuck reading some stories my friends wrote for me for my birthday. So please forgive me enjoying my presents. And thanks, PK for _Nomi_.

Finally, I must thank TA for her works and advice on this story. I've posted up the new recommended chapter arrangements and the few edits you did, as you can see. I agree they are all improvements. I know you don't really like HB, so yes, this is a great present you gave me . Don't worry about the grammar, I'll get it beta'd later. I'll have to think about the more in-depth suggestions and do that later. However, I've implemented them in this latest chapter. So, yes, a very BIG 'thank you'.

For those who reviewed, again a BIG BIG thank you. I know my writing style's a bit complicated, but thanks for sticking with me. Hopefully I can learn to loosen it over time. With this chapter, I hope it ends on a lighter note, mayhaps even an uplifting note. I've pushed some of the 'horror elements' into the next Fenton chapter so this chapter didn't have to be so heavy. I've also edited and added more Fenton introspection in hope that this would help to make it a more 'Hardy-story' as suggested by TA. I also hope that works. I know I have a tendency to get lost in plot or get lost in character – I am still learning to reconcile the two. So I'd appreciate your help if you would. As per previous chapter: story discussion/points below.

Just remember: every chapter should either have element of horror or mystery. If I start to slip – do NOT hesitate to let me know. That's very important.

There's only 4-5 more chapters to go after this, so… who knows if I can make Halloween night?

Whatever the outcome, please enjoy:

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**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 17

FAIRY TALES AND CASTLES

Max strode casually into the roadside eatery, ordered a light meal and then settled comfortably down at the corner table with his daily papers. An observant eye might notice his feet tapping impatiently under the table. And Max was impatient. He wanted to be with his team at Cohen Tech Solutions working on locating the Candyman's lair. But his gut instincts said to meet this informant.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before another figure wearing a long brown trench-coat joined him at the table.

"Maxwell?" A female voice enquired at exactly four in the late afternoon.

"Yes, and you're?"

"I worked under you in your forensic department, Director Kendall," an amused voice replied.

Max raised his brow and took another look at the middle aged woman seated before him. He shrugged; he could not be expected to know everybody who worked under him. He did not recognize her; yet there was a familiarity about her.

"They said I looked like him. My brother died thirteen years ago." She said.

It clicked. "Sean Garret. You're Serena."

Serena chuckled, "I knew you'd remember. Especially given what's been happening recently." Then her expression turned serious. "I was never satisfied with that serial killer explanation given for those murders thirteen years back, Maxwell."

"I remember how hard you protested against us closing the case back then, Serena. But that was what the evidence said."

"Do you still believe that?"

"Do I believe that the Candyman killed them? Yes. Do I believe that the Secret Service wanted the Candyman for their purposes? The answer is also yes. Do I believe that the Candyman survived that explosion thirteen years ago? Given what we've seen in the last few days, that is a distinct possibility." Max answered carefully.

For a moment, Serena kept quiet and merely stared at her cup of coffee before her. She seemed to be in deep thought. Then, "Maxwell, do you trust your forensic department?"

_Now, that's an interesting question_, Max thought. "What do you mean?" He asked.

Serena stared at him long and hard.

"I'm making the decision to trust you, Maxwell." She finally said. "These are the REAL results of the test for those thirteen pieces of candies. And all the key information I managed to gather on the _Halloween Project_ twenty-six years back."

She pushed a thick yellow manila envelop across the table. "I could only get you the photocopies. Make good use of it. And remember, you still have me on the inside. I have to go."

Before he could react, she stood up and left.

Max stared at the contents of that manila envelop, stunned.

**_HBHBHB _**

Fenton was close to gnashing his teeth in frustration. The terror he felt ever since he found out that The Candyman had his sons hovered ever closer to the surface, ready to burst out of him. It's worse now that the psycho got Laura too.

It had been over fifteen minutes since they arrived at Bayport City Library. And they had spent the last ten minutes in a fruitless hunt for that mysterious unidentified book. No such book existed. How could that be! Fenton cursed once again.

At this point in time, every second slipping by without any progress was as if he was watching his sons' and wife's blood dripping away drop by drop. It was morbid, it was macabre, but he could not help those images popping up in his mind.

He forcefully willed those thoughts and images away.

Fenton knew. It was sheer exhaustion and the fact that the eight of them were at saturation point where information on this case that was causing them to miss the clearly simple task of finding the books that they were sent to find. He hoped fervently they 'see light' soon, or he would never be able to live with himself should anything happened to either his wife or sons. He took a deep breath and returned his focus to the screen before him.

Fenton felt so tense, his hand shook against the keyboard. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, it was Mathew. They could see the desperation in each others' eyes.

"They found nothing on the shelves, but still searching. Kane and Emilio are still searching through the Reserved Section. Have you got anything here?" Mathew asked as he peered over Fenton's shoulder into the LCD screen.

"Nothing," Fenton growled and gave up on the Library catalogue; he made his way online.

_Let's try Google, what have I got to loose?_ He thought philosophically to himself. He googled **'404418705217'**, and had to stifle a miserable laugh. There was only one hit, and it was a useless hit.

_Track FedEx Package **404418705217**_

Fenton could not help but to let out a string of curses. He was about to try the second number **728097306VE31 **when they heard Madeline call out to them.

"Fenton? Matthew?"

They could hear the excitement in her voice, and they both stood up, hopeful expressions on their faces. She did not fail them.

"We found the first book. The call number of the book is **728.097306VE.** It was the '31' at the end that threw us off. It's an old book called _'Medieval Castles in America'_." Madeline said with a hint of self loathing in her voice.

Fenton understood that feeling perfectly. They have wasted valuable time on a perfectly simple and clear-cut clue. And in that unguarded moment, the horror of the twelve perfect bodies flashed by Fenton's mind again. Were his boys still alive? He remembered from the old autopsy files that the agents died a long slow death. God forgive him, but Fenton hoped the Candyman left his sons for last, and he hoped that the Candyman would take his time. He was selfish; he wanted to find his sons and wife alive. He needed them alive, and he would devote the rest of his life to helping them recover if he had to. But he needed his family to be alive, for him.

Then the guilt factor stepped in. He hoped his loved ones live at the expense of others' families. He knew that from now on, he's going to have a hard time meeting any of the other detectives' eyes. His guilt and selfishness would always be there, like a forbidding impenetrable wall between them.

A hand reached for his chin and directed his face towards her. Ah, Madeline. She was perceptive, as always. He refused to look at her. But she persisted and he finally had to meet her eyes. He could see the pain and the understanding in them.

"We are all thinking the same things, Fenton." She said simply. "But we cannot afford to feel guilty over each other right now."

It was then Fenton realized that all of them had been sort of avoiding each other for a while now. No wonder they had not been making any progress on the case. He felt a little better.

"She's right. First we find our family and make sure they are safe, and then we can beat each other up for our selfishness later. Meantime, we worked as a team. Agreed?" Mathew asked.

Everyone nodded. And that felt good.

"Now, let's get to work and see what we have here," Madeline stated in a forcefully cheerful voice, and eight pairs of eyes focused on page 31 of the book before them:

It tells of a sad tale of a little haunted castle in the heart of Transylvania belonging to the Barony of Anton. It was the story of the love of a father for his daughter. A love so deep it twisted him. When the daughter passed on from an unknown illness, the father had chosen to abandon God and turn to the occult. He built that castle in accordance to the specifications of an ancient spell: _The power of theThirteen_. The Baron's obsession with the occult grew as he failed to bring his daughter back to life each Halloween, and he grew madder by the year as his daughter 'slept' on in the thirteenth tower of the castle. That tower was eventually called Sleeping Beauty's Tower. One Halloween night, the villagers could take no more and burnt down the castle. The Baron's and the daughter's remains were never found, but it was rumored that the Baron's screams of fear and fury could still be heard every Halloween.

Fenton could almost hear everyone's heart pounding harder and louder as they read on:

The story goes on to tell of another very wealthy man, Peter Arkenay whose love for his sister ran equally deep. So deep he was devastated when she fell to the yellow fever epidemic that hit New York City killing 2086 people in 1908. It was said that Arkenay, being a student of the occult, had the very stones of Sleeping Beauty's Tower shipped across the Atlantic, and that he reconstructed that tower in an effort to recreate that powerful ancient spell. It was also said that he had the tower constructed atop a labyrinth within which he kept his pets for his unworldly experiments. No one knew where he built that tower, though many have searched and failed. Arkenay disappeared with his sister's body and his fortune in gold into his tower in an unknown location.

There was a moment of quiet was the detectives digested the story of the tower. One could not miss the significance of that reference to 'Sleeping Beauty's Tower', nor the reference to the 'power of the thirteen'. Fenton again marveled at the amount of planning that the Candyman invested. How the heck did he manage to even find this story? And that castle too! For Fenton had no doubt that was where his family was being held. The only problem was; he had no idea where that tower was and how to find it. He turned to the others and was greeted by blank faces with equally bleak smiles.

"Now, anyone has any idea how we could find that mystery tower before tomorrow night?" Mathew asked.

Fenton forced his mind back to the case. By sheer willpower, he distanced himself from his loved ones. Yes, this was just another case, and he could do it. He could solve it. He took a deep breath and let his mind wondered back to the start of the chase. The maps, the crossroads, the little red riding hood, and now, this occult fairytale. What's the connection? Everything, he thought. Everything that flows fit in smoothly.

_Lateral thinking, Fenton, remember lateral thinking_, he told himself as he swiftly sifted through his data in his mind. Then he started fitting the pieces together like he would a jig-jaw puzzle; the blue for the skies, the white for the clouds, and the green for the trees. Aha! Therein lies the problem: did those blue pieces belong to the skies or to the seas? No, it belong to neither for it was the wrong shade altogether. Yes, there were still unused pieces of the puzzle for him to solve!

"Mathew, I need that map from the car that took us to the crossroads!" He called out. "And hurry, the library's closing in fifteen minutes. Every minute counts!"

Mathew rushed off.

Fenton walked swiftly back to the Internet terminal, at the same time requesting: "Can someone go borrow a pen and a long ruler from anywhere?"

He was glad to see Kane and Gaby nod and walked off, presumably to search for those items.

"What have you got, Fenton?" Madeline asked.

Fenton shot her a quick smile as he quickly surfed his way online to a national navigational site.

"Those twelve numbers were the coordinates of a location, Maddy. They stood for 40° 44' 18" of latitude, and 70° 52' 17" of longitude. So I am now searching for its exact location on this latitude and longitude lookup site…. And here we go!" Fenton finished with a hint of a triumphant tone in his voice.

But that moment of exhilaration lasted only a second in time, and his smile faded as he once again remembered his family. 'Don't worry Laura, Frank and Joe… I'm getting there, I'll find you, I promised. All you have to do is to hang on' Fenton thought grimly to himself.

He returned his attention to the computer screen before him. The location was a spot in the Great South Bay. He clicked on the function to enlarge the map and silently gave thanks to computers and digital technologies. The coordinates lay directly over an East Fire Island.

Fenton then googled for the island and found a Wikipedia entry on it, describing it as "an uninhabited island larger than West Fire Island, but much smaller than Fire Island, just east of West Fire Island in the Great South Bay. Half the island was swamp land and the other half heavily forested. The best way of getting there was by seaplane."

"Fenton, I think you got the location of our Sleeping Beauty Tower," Madeline whispered in awe.

"The only problem now is: how are we going to get there," Jude wondered out loud.

"Don't worry about that score. The Candyman planned it all, down to every single detail. But here comes our clue as to where to go next." Fenton said as he saw the others returned with the map and the ruler.

"Remember our little red riding hood at the crossroads?" Fenton asked.

The others nodded.

"Well, she was pointing down the East road, but we got back here via the South road…" Fenton explained as he spread out that map on the table before all of them. He went straight for the red colored 'X' that was marked on the map, searched for the East road and used the ruler and pen to draw a straight line across the state and onto Long Island. The line cut straight through to Bayshore.

"Bayshore's about an hour and a half hour drive from here on the Freeway. I've been there, it's a cozy little seaside town." Gaby commented.

"Maddy, can you go to yellow pages online and search for any seaplane charter service in Bayshore?" Fenton requested.

Madeline did so and the search returned only one such business: Castles in the Air Seaplane Charter Services.

The detectives packed up and raced for their cars; they got their next destination.

As he drove, Fenton could not prevent an old fear from rising. It was there, buried deep in his mind ever since he was told that the Candyman was involved. He was terrified that, like thirteen years ago, he would arrive too late to find his sons' dead bodies smiling sweetly up at him. And that fear grew when Gray announced that he was 'The Thirteen'. His mind could not help but link the fact that Frank was the thirteenth victim and Gray being 'The Thirteen'… He shook his head hard to rid his mind of those morbid thoughts.

It was almost seven when the two cars pulled up at the little shed with a huge billboard proclaiming: Castles in the Air Seaplane Charter Services. To their surprise, the lights were still on, and a gruffly old man was seated within smoking his cheroot.

"Ah, here you are, I've been waiting for you," the old man said as they walked into the dimly lit, smoky, quaint little office.

_Why aren't I surprise?_ Fenton thought.

"You've been waiting for us?" Mathew queried.

The gruffly old pilot nodded vigorously before saying to them: "Aye! You guys are all detectives aren't you? Well, this morning your kids dropped by and asked for a big favor. Said they were planning a Halloween hunt of sorts for their detective parents and asked if I could help. Of course I told 'em I would!"

There were eight sharp indrawn breaths.

But the old grey-haired pilot misconstrued the reaction and chuckled: "You guys got really great kids that would go into such lengths to give you the perfect Halloween party, you know. Anyway, here's the map and the camping gear that I'm suppose to hand over to you, and here's the photograph we took… in case you didn't believe me, they said. Now, gimme a sec to get the seaplane ready and we'll get going, huh?"

Then he left.

The detectives stared at the Polaroid photo. It showed thirteen very familiar smiling faces staring blankly back at the camera.

A number of the detectives cursed. Carlos smashed his fists against the wooden walls.

"Thirteen little Judases," Madeline whispered with a soft bitter laugh as she recalled Gray's mysterious words, and added dully. "He's pitting our kids against us."

Fenton stared at all the dull faces around him and something stirred from deep within him.

"Come on, we're about to get to see them," he told them in a stern voice. "We've no choice but to go ahead into a trap. But we can choose to believe that we can get through to our kids somehow. I know my kids. Both Frank and Joe are smart, and I choose to believe that I can reason my way through to them somehow. I choose to believe I know them better than that psycho out there. We've to believe, guys, otherwise there's no point for us to get on that seaplane to go over to the island."

He glared at all of them and tried to will them back to life. It's true that things looked stacked against them, but they could not afford to head over there with a sense of defeat. Their families' depending on them, and damn if he, Fenton, was going to give up without a fight.

"The Candyman wanted to play, guys. I say we give him a game he'd never forget." Fenton finished his little speech, and was gratified to see the others react accordingly.

"You're right, Fenton, Let's go give'em a game worth remembering," Carlos said as he cracked his knuckles.

"I see you guys are getting into the mood!" the old pilot laughed jovially as he came back just in time to see what Carlos did. "The plane's ready, so let's get rocking, huh?"

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**Please Read and Review!**

A/N 1: I made some references and fictional entries here as follows-

1 - The Great Epidemic of 1798 killed 2086 people in New York City. I modified that to happen in 1908 for this story.

2 - The 12-digit coordinates were really made up, though I think it should land you somewhere on Long Island if you check. The FedEx bit is real (yeah, I tried for the fun of it). West Fire Island really exists, though I expand on the Wiki entry for the sake of my story. Bayshore really exists too, but everything else about it is made up.

Story Discussion:

Bgees: Thanks But I have to say that I was a little worried about the Gingerbread House chapters because I wrote them to be read as a whole, then split them up. So yeah, readers might get confused there. Which is also why I need the mood to carry through in those chapters to make up for the puzzlement of it as I post chapter by chapter... I know I'd lost some readers over those chapters because those does require a bit of thinking - especially if my hope on the 'mood' aspect fails to get through, but... well, I still wanted to try it. I just hope I did not loose too many.

PK: You're right that I was trying to make the Gingerbread House part of the story workable forward and backward. But then again, that's technical experimentation. The story should be able to hold attention regardless.

VM: Yes I went off track at Chapter 3 after watching that director's interview. I should have sticked with my original sequencing. But TA fixed that in part (Thanks!) But I certainly hope this chapter works!.


	19. Mirror Mirror on the Wall

**Hi, the next bit. Again sorry it took longer than I expected. But hope you would enjoy it. Its late here so I'm off to bed.**

**UKfan - read below (thanks)**

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**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 18

MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL

_The Candyman hummed and sang happily as he prepped his ceremonial chambers for his grand finale. Suddenly he stopped. Something was not right. He could feel it in his guts. He frowned. He glared at his huge looking glass till the veins at his temples were throbbing. He asked: _

_'Mirror, mirror, on the wall _

_What caused that trouble down the hall?' _

_The silvery surface shimmered and moved. Colors replaced the mercurial gray. A youthful face with deep blue eyes and blond hair stared back at him. _

_The Candyman cursed, checked that everything was in order, and headed down the gingerbread corridors. _

**'Iola' smiled back at him lovingly. **

**His heart started to pound. **

**He watched her intently as she snuggled into the crook of his arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do. For some reason, that felt familiar to him too. Yet, he could not help feeling that something was not quite… right. She smiled up at him, reached up to kiss him, and his concerns melted away. She pressed the 'play' button on their DVD player. Then they were watching the movie again… **

A dark haired youth had just finished his business at the local bank. He was making his way back to his van when his cell phone rang. He took note of the caller ID before answering with a smile on his handsome but tensed and worried face.

"Hey Cal, I'm just about done at the bank."

He listened and then laughed a little.

"Sure, I'll do that. And Cal? Thanks so much for keeping mom and Vanessa company; they needed it."

He listened again and his eyes softened.

"Yeah, I miss him. But we'll find him. Dad will come up with something, I'm sure." He glanced at his watch. "And Cal, I better get home before mom gets worried. I'll call you later tonight."

He opened the door to his van and settled himself comfortably into the driver seat.

"Love you too, Cal. Call you later!"

He placed his cell phone on the dash board and started his journey home. Then he heard it. It was a ring tone. Only then did he notice an iPhone on the passenger seat next to him. It wasn't his. For a moment he hesitated, and then he picked it up.

A very familiar voice came over the phone: "Hello, Frank Hardy?"

**So that dark haired youth was called Frank. Frank Hardy. Somehow that name, that name. He returned his attention to the TV screen… **

Frank Hardy almost crashed the van into the car in front of him.

"Joe! Is that you?" The dark haired youth executed an instant skillful parallel park and turned his full attention to the call. "Where are you, little bro? Are you okay?"

After a short pause, another voice, deep and husky, came through the iPhone: "I see you recognized your brother's voice, Frank. If you want to see Joe alive, go up Shore Road now. And do not try to contact anyone, I will know."

Then the line was cut.

Frank stared at the iPhone for a moment before speeding off. It wasn't long before the van was racing down a long isolated stretch of road hugging the coastal line of the Great South Bay. It was clear that the road lead up to the cliffs, and in the distance, a lighthouse stood looking tall and lonely, yet firm and steady against the strong ocean wind. It was equally clear the van was the only vehicle on that road.

**What a perfect setting for a typical B-grade horror flick… **

It was clear that the youthful driver was uneasy. His fingers were gripping on just too tightly to the steering wheel, and worry lines marked a clear pattern across his brow.

Then there was someone standing on the road just round a gentle curve. Frank stepped on his brakes and the van screeched to a halt. A blond headed youth wearing a NBA top and light blue jeans stood staring calmly back at him through the windscreen, his hair flying wildly in the wind, and his face half shaded by the wild orange glow of the setting sun.

A long second flew by, and Frank's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Joe," he whispered almost joyfully, and his hand automatically reached for the door.

Yet, that joy of seeing his little brother last but another second before his eyes became filled with suspicion. Something was clearly not right. His hand rested on the door handle, but did not open it. He checked his rear view mirror, and his side mirror. There was no one there. He made the decision to exit from the passenger side instead.

But Frank was not given that chance. He saw his brother lift his hand and pointed a gun to his head. His own reaction was instantaneous.

"NO! Joe, DON'T!" He yelled as he opened the driver door and jumped out of the car, totally intent on reaching his own brother.

There was a sharp painful jab, and then darkness.

**He sat straight on the couch, his breath caught in his throat. He watched on… **

The blond headed youth reached out to take a driver's license that was handed to him from another man dressed in grey. That youth opened the door to the van to place the driver's license and a half of a gingerbread man on the driver's seat. Then he got into the passenger seat of another van parked just round the corner and they drove off.

They did what they were supposed to do.

**His heart hurts. He felt guilty. It was a familiar feeling; the one he always got when he knew he did something wrong. He did not want to watch on, yet he felt he must… **

Frank Hardy made multiple trips through the gingerbread rooms. And each time he did a trip, he lost a bit of himself. Yet he hung on tenaciously.

From another room, the villain watched with interest the stubborn battle the boy put up. While he admired the will and spirit of that dark haired youth, he had a schedule to keep and could not afford to play for too long. Still, the fire and methodological approach exhibited by that youth to his predicament intrigued him. Too bad The Thirteen had been chosen, he sighed. He perused his notes and soon found a weakness he could exploit. He summoned the younger brother.

"Frank must believe he killed you, do you understand that?" The villain asked and the blond headed youth nodded.

**NO, don't do it! He shouted out loud to the boy. Don't hurt your own brother! The boy on the screen could not hear him… **

Frank was making his way through the gingerbread rooms again. But this time it was clear that he was desperate. His breathing was uneven. His hands shook as he reached out to open the door before him. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what lies beyond for a just a little moment longer.

He heard several gasps.

He heard a voice calling out his name in disbelief.

He opened his eyes and saw everything he wanted to see before him. His brother, some other people, and the confirmation that he made it back to the kitchen.

**No, don't believe what you see in that room. Come on Frank, you're a logical person. Surely you can see it's all a lie. It's all a lie… **

Those soft brown eyes were filled with joy and love for his little brother.

**How did he know what sort of person that movie character Frank is? And those eyes, those eyes… **

All six of them sat around the table listening intently as Frank explained the mechanics of the gingerbread rooms. He put forth a plan to blast a way out of their prison. They had to do it, or they would be dead by the end of the day.

**Why did you not see that you did not have an explanation as to why you would all be dead by the end of the day? You've not even seen daylight for a while now… **

The look of horror in those brown eyes when he thought his actions killed his own brother. The pain in there was so raw…

**Frank's in trouble. His heart hurts for that youth. His heart actually hurts. Come on big bro, you know something is not right… **

Two youths were happily playing ball in a perfect world beyond the looking glass.

**But that world is not real! It's a limited world, big bro! Try exploring the place; you'll see what I mean! **

**Big Bro? His heart started to race. **

**He pressed 'pause' on the DVD player, and leaned forward for a closer look at the other blond headed youth that stood still on the screen. **

**"Darling, what are you doing?" Iola asked. "Let's continue watching…" **

**He turned to face her. She was as beautiful as he remembered. He reached forward to give her a quick kiss. Then he recalled she did not respond to her name, but responded to 'darling'. His heart started to pound. **

**How could his love not respond to her name? Then, what was his name? He frowned, what did he look like? **

**"Darling, what's my name?" he asked. **

**Iola did not respond. **

**He tried again. "Darling, tell me what I look like?" **

**She giggled and reached out to caress his cheek, saying, "You're the most handsome guy around here, and I love you." **

**She did not answer his question. He started to feel more and more agitated. Who was he? What did he look like? He had this sudden overwhelming need to know. He needed to know because someone he cared about was in danger. And that need override his other almost equally strong desire to just stay here and be happy. **

**His lips tightened into a grim line. If Iola's not helping him, then he had to help himself. There were many ways to solving a real life problem. His father taught him that. He scanned the room; he searched the house. **

**There were no mirrors in the house. **

**He had a real bad feeling about the whole situation now. And the movies he watched with that girl replayed itself swiftly in his mind. Always, the movies ended at the mirror. **

**Suddenly he felt claustrophobic. It doesn't make sense. The Morton farmstead's spacious. Then it hit him. When did he ever walk out of the house? It seemed that he had been sitting here in this room with his love watching TV forever! That was just not right! He needed to get out of the house. He needed fresh air. **

**He strode determinedly towards the main door. He could feel something screaming at the back of his mind promising him that sheer terror lies beyond. He suppressed that feeling through will power, and in a single fluid motion, yanked the door open. **

**A shiny shimmering silver surface greeted him. **

**He stared at the mirror, shocked. **

**He stared at his own shimmery reflection, and saw the blond headed youth from the movie he was watching. It was him; he was that boy who helped hurt his own brother. He knew it wasn't really his fault. But the guilt was there nevertheless. **

**His name's Joe. **

**He reached out to touch that silvery surface. It was cold, so cold it burns. He snatched his hand back. **

**This house he was in… he ran for the windows. He saw beautifully even green lawns beyond the windows, windows that were all glued shut. He stepped back from the windows, panting. Then he raced back to the shimmering silver wall behind the main door. **

**And there he stood, trying to gather his courage to step through. He remembered the burning cold and that held him back. Then he steeled himself. The only way out of the looking glass was through the looking glass. He took a step forward. **

**"If you walk through that, you'll never be with me again," the feminine voice behind him said. **

**He swiveled around to face her. His first love, and a guilt that never really dies. She died so he and his brother could live. **

**"Iola, please, you aren't real. You died almost a year ago…" his own voice was pleading, for understanding, and for release from guilt. **

**Iola shook her head angrily: "You promised me. You promised you'd always stay with me. That you'd always love me." **

**"I can't Iola, Frank needs me." **

**"Frank's happy where he is, darling." Iola pointed to the TV screen. "And so are you. Aren't you? Don't you love me, my dearest?" **

**"I do love you, Iola. You know that. But this is not real. Likewise, what Frank has now is not real. I put him there, so I must go and get him out…" He felt torn both ways. **

**"You never love me, did you, Joe?" Iola suddenly asked, her voice cold and dull. "That's why you started going out with her…" **

**He felt as if someone was squeezing his heart. **

**"You know I loved you, Iola. I never forgot you. And Vanessa was nothing to do with this. You're dead, Iola… dead for almost a year now…" He whispered in a voice choked with guilt. "If I could undo the past, I would. But I can't" **

**"You can, darling, you can. All you have to do is to stay, stay here with me. I promise you that you'll be happy, forever…" Iola implored, her eyes huge and glittering with tears. **

**He looked at her a long while. He remembered their first kiss and their first date. That pale yellow summer dress she wore that hugged her slim frame and highlighted her dark hair and pixie-like features. They went to the movies where they snuggled and laughed at the show. Then they had dinner at a cozy local diner, sharing a huge glass of punch and dancing to the music from the jukebox. That was all he could afford back then... and she paid for the music. He smiled sadly at that bittersweet memory. **

**"Please, please, don't leave me alone here… I've been lonely for so long, waiting for you to come back to me." **

**He couldn't help it. He reached out to her and enfolded her in his embrace. He put every bit of love he had for her into that embrace, infused it with every bit of regret he ever felt over the way things turned out. Then he kissed her, long and deep, for everything that they could never have together. He kissed her and his tears flow. The tears flow for the betrayal that was to come. He knew now he was hugging an illusion. But the illusion was still her. And again he would be leaving her, failing her… and it would be by choice this time. **

**But he really had no choice. He would not live an illusion. **

**He whispered into her ear as he hugged her desperately for a past that could never become the future: "Iola was my first love, always. I loved her. If she lives today, I would do everything in my power to make her happy. I would stay here with her for an eternity if that is what she wanted." He paused to look into her eyes one last time. "But all these aren't real. You're not real. And Frank needs me… I'm sorry, Iola, so sorry…" **

**With that, he pushed her off him, turned and jumped into the shimmering doorway. **

**The cold burning pain was excruciating. The pain in his heart was worse. He screamed and screamed and wondered despairingly if he would ever reach the other side. **

A/N 1: As far as I can see from Yahoo maps, Shore Road was just a short little street and it certainly was not hugging the coast. I made it up because I seem of have this little thing for that road. I really don't know why. Perhaps it's just me loving the sea.

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**Please Read and Review. Thanks very much.**

**UKfan: They're the 'Children of the gingerbread house . The Candyman does have a degree of control, a very high degree of control in fact, but as you can see from this chapter, there are gaps that can be exploited... so... well... psychological warfare as both F & J surmise does need a lot of homework done... but still ...  
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	20. Who Can Take a Rainbow

**And the next bit... Please enjoy while edit my next chapter...**

**Thanks Moogs, UkFan and Bgees (pls read below) for the comments and encouragement... heading back to horror again... Gingerbread house scene next, but I'm sure you already guess that. **

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**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 19

WHO CAN TAKE A RAINBOW

Half an hour later the plane landed in the dark waters next to the island. The old man carefully navigated his way to a clearly newly constructed wooden pier.

"Here you go!" The seaplane pilot exclaimed most jovially as he helped them unload their camping gear. "Enjoy your Halloween Mystery Hunt! I'll be back to pick you up from here in two days' time."

The old seaplane pilot gave a final cheerful wave before flying off. The sound of the plane engines could be heard for a long while before it slowly faded away, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake. All eight detectives did not miss the fact that no buzzing insect sounds filled the night air, even though they were in the middle of a wild natural environment. There was not even the weak breath of the sea breeze, despite the fact that West Fire Island was located in the middle of the breezy Great South Bay.

Or perhaps they were simply too numb and too tired to feel or hear anything. And that was a preferred thought, Fenton muttered quietly for his own benefit.

"I can see that our Candyman has little faith in our map reading skills" Mathew commented wryly.

Fenton followed Mathew's gaze. And there, on the ground glowing eerily in the pale moonlight was a thick silvery thread. It started at the end of the wooden pier, and extended all the way into the thick forest before them.

The eight looked at each other, shrugged, and began their hike, using the powerful torches that were provided to light the path before them. It wasn't long before they came to a fork in the road. The silver thread ended there.

Mathew paused to peruse the map that was provided. It was no use. The map gave no indication of where to go next.

"What do we do now?" One of the detectives asked.

"We wait," Fenton replied grimly.

They did not have long to wait. A brilliant light filled the darkness and blinded them for an instant. As it slowly dimmed, the detectives soon made out a small clearing in the woods to their right. And there a man knelt and sang as he lay out a picnic mat and started to unload items from the picnic hamper.

_"Who can take a rainbow,_

_Wrap it in a sigh?_

_Soak it in the sun_

_and make the stra'bry lemon pie"_

Fenton felt chills running up his spine. That voice… that voice! He ran towards the clearing. He knew the others followed. But he cared not. His heart hung on to the rainbow of hope even as it was drowning in sighs of despair.

"Sam…" Fenton whispered, all his fear, guilt and relief infused into that single word that tore its way out of his throat when his eyes confirmed what his heart already knew just seconds ago.

Fenton sank slowly onto his knees as Sam turned to face them his eyes vacant and unblinking.

"Come, you must be hungry, please help yourself to some supper, courtesy of the Candyman," Sam said in formal tones.

"Sam? Sam! It's me, Fenton," Fenton gave Sam a hard shake, but his friend and partner did not show any signs of recognition at all. In fact, Sam looked just like Gray did.

"Please help yourself to some supper," Sam repeated again in formal tones.

Fenton felt close to tears, his emotions in turmoil. He could not help but feel that it was his fault that Sam ended up in this state. He could not help but feel terrified at what this meant for his sons, who had been in the hands of that crazy man for days now. And then there was his wife too. He could not bear it if he had to face all three of them against him at one go. That would be too much; far too much for him to bear.

He buried his face in his hands, and groaned his despair.

He felt someone shaking him.

"Come on, Fenton! You understand the principles of psychological warfare as much as I do. You can't let this defeat you now. We're so close, Fenton! So close!" That was Madeline trying to get through to him.

Then Mathew added: "You've to pull yourself together, Fenton. This is almost over, and your family needs you. You cannot give up now!"

Fenton shook his head. For some crazy reason, he felt there was something personal about this whole situation. But what? And why? Why him? He wanted to scream out that question, but he knew it wouldn't get him the answers he wanted.

"I know what you're thinking, Fenton. But my honest opinion? I don't think it's about you per se. I believe this is just because Sam happened to be there. It's all of us that he wanted, and we'll just have to figure out why and what he had planned before our kids pay the price," Gaby said calmly to him. "I hope this makes you feel better?"

Fenton gave him a weak but grateful smile. "I'm not quite sure what to believe at the moment, Gaby, but thanks."

Then Sam spoke again. "Please help yourself to some supper. Your children spent an afternoon to prepare these Strawberry Lemon Pies. You should be able to tell them why you like it or they would be very sad. And you don't want them to feel sad, do you?"

The detectives looked at each other again, and shrugged again. It was clear that they won't be getting the next piece of clue without first tasting the pies. They each took a bite under Sam's watchful unblinking eyes, and waited.

Sam started to move. He divided up the remaining food into eight portions and handed them one pack each. "This is for you if you get hungry later," he said, and then added: "The path you seek is the one that leads downhill."

The detectives picked up their respective packs and made ready to go when Fenton paused for a moment. Guilt warred against necessity. He was leaving Sam behind again…

High above, thick and grey storm clouds gathered, blocking out the moonlight. Then a streak of whiteness flashed across the sky. In the distance, the rumble of thunder could be heard. Then Fenton felt the first droplet of water on his cheek.

Something told Fenton that there would be no rainbow when the sun rises tomorrow morning.

**_HBHBHB_**

Meanwhile, back at Cohen Tech Solutions, everyone was crowding around Phil Cohen and his computer as he explained his theory on how that invisible agent made his way to Gray and left the FBI building.

"So all that bastard did was to insert a program to 'tag' certain colored pixels? That was it? And the AI uses fuzzy logic to just delete the object and blend it in with its surroundings?" Max asked.

"Well, that was my hypothesis when I found out that the entire FBI surveillance system was fully digitized and operating at 16-bit color capacity." Phil said. "That translates into approximately 16 million colors for your hacker to choose from, and he needed only one, really. So on the day of intrusion, he just have to make sure he was wearing clothes in the exact color that correspond to that digital color code with minimal skin exposure, and the fuzzy logic program does the rest of it, fudging that figure off your records. Yeah, that's potentially what happened."

Max stared at the screen as he digested what Phil just told him.

"What I don't understand is how the Candyman got that program into the FBI system in the first place. That is, if you were right, of course, Phil." Chief Collig commented.

"That is also something I am trying to figure out," Phil admitted. "And the key reason why I think that there must be another solution to this puzzle – one that I haven't figured out just yet."

"Why do you say that, Phil?" Officer Con Riley asked. He was still feeling bad about not remembering what happened the night before, and promised to make up for allowing Laura to be kidnapped from right under his nose by helping out in whatever way he could.

Phil sighed and explained: "It takes an extremely complicated program to be able to do what I described. As you can see, the relatively simple program I cooked up was only doing the job partially, leaving noticeably obvious fudges. And this program is already taking up over 5 megabytes of space and slowing down my processor. What I am saying is, this program is huge and takes up lots of resources. So it is highly unlikely something like this would go unnoticed by any IT department… unless that IT department is REAL incompetent."

"Or if the department is already compromised…" Max announced in an angry grim voice.

Everyone turned and stared at Max, surprised by his open admission of that possibility. That kind of admission was simply not FBI policy.

"It has recently been brought to my attention that my forensic department has been tampering with our reports on the Candyman case. So I believe it is fair to assume that the IT department has been similarly compromised by whichever branch of Secret Service that was that wanted their hands on the Candyman for whatever reason."

"What?!" The few FBI agents with Max spluttered in disbelief.

"That was from that informant you met earlier?" Chief Collig queried and got a curt nod from Max.

_Yeah, think how I feel!_ Max thought wryly. He shook his head a little, as if to clear his thoughts.

A number of curses rang through the room. The curses were quickly followed by a series of apologies when they registered Phil and his father was in the room with them.

"I AM 18 and legally adult, and I DO grow up watching Hollywood blockbusters." Phil announced in an irate tone.

"We were being polite to your father, Phil," one of the FBI agents responded.

"What about the second security recording? The one just before the explosion?" Max cut in and asked Phil.

"That one is easy, sir. Someone cut off a chunk of the recording, did some splicing of the scenes, and edited the time records. And I can tell you straight off that whoever did it was interrupted, so he or she did not have the time to finish his job properly. He or she did not manage to fully delete and clean-out the storage medium. As a result, I am able to recover these scenes…" Phil said.

With a few expert touches on the keyboard, he brought up the deleted scenes:

_Everyone in the room within sight was sleeping and the gramophone started to play. Then Arthur Gray was singing and moving jerkily around the round room, moving in and out of sight. Soon he was at the table doing something. The detectives woke up and watched. Gray handed some pieces of brown papers to Fenton. Madeline started to lead Gray back to his makeshift bed when he started to speak._

_'I was the Thirteen…The time now is 7:55am… There will be two cars in the alley beyond that window with further instructions.'_

_Then both Arthur Gray and Sam Radley collapsed. The detectives adjusted their watches and then left the room as instructed._

_The Gramophone started to play again. Gray stood up walked over to the gramophone and did something to the music player. He then picked Sam up, and carried him out of the room._

"Nothing happened for a while," Phil said as he fast forwarded the scenes until:

_The gramophone started to spin faster and faster until it could be seen that the entire contraption was vibrating strongly. Maniacal laughter emanated from the horn. And the screen went blank as the gramophone exploded._

"That's all I got," Phil said as he turned to face everyone else in the room. "I hope that's enough…"

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**Please Read and Review. Thanks very much.**

Bgees: The answer to your question is 2-fold. Firstly, previous was posted by my friend before I finished the editing (which I updated again later and also change password). Second, possibly because I need to sharpen the writing a bit more. And the last bit is possibly there are a bit more to go in the next gingerbread house chapter.

Story discussion beyond here:

TA: Yeah, the entire idea was first conceptualized when I watch Hellboy. That was a while back, wasn't it? lol - Brothers Grimm movie provide the narrative framework... or more accurately, the links I need to tie everything together into a hopefully coherent story.

PK: I know, I am still thinking myself, whether to finish the whole story in its entirety, or to just end it as a simple Halloween flick. Both are workable, I think. But will see how it goes with my moving across the ocean.**  
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	21. Come Have a Chit Chat

**First, I must apologise for this chapter. This has been a remarkably difficult chapter. I'm afraid I have to concede that my writing skill's just not quite there yet to want to achieve the effect I want. So I have to settle for just getting the info I wanted out here out in a reasonably coherent form. So please forgive me for failing the psychological horror intended for this chapter. I posted this only because I believe it'd be another year or two or even more before I could get the style right, and if I never try, I'd never improve anyway. So here it is. If you're interested in what its meant to be, pls read below. And now, I must go edit the next chapter... that will be a much faster one since its an action bit from Fenton. **

**Thanks again, Moogs, Bhar, AnJellyCa and Bgees, for your encouragement. Thanks Fenlaur, for letting me know you enjoyed it. OK readers, pls enjoy chapter 20, and I only hope the ending will not disappoint.**

**Bhar: I think TA's advice help - but for my ego, I prefer to think its because of your holidays I promise I will finish Alien, don't worry - already got some chapters, just that I keep feeling something else must come before... so this tale's being written backwards. **

**Bgees: Thanks. Just want to let you know that all those little details you said you like or questioned are very useful and helped the story alot. Thanks **

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A/N: I may be overly cautious, but you aren't eating candies now, are you? 

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 20

COME HAVE A CHIT CHAT

In a sparsely but elegantly decorated dining room lit by the lights of a hundred candles, three persons sat facing each other on a round elaborately carved gingerbread table.

The first adult, who was also the host, looked like he was having a good time eating his chocolate dessert while entertaining his guests. The second adult sat straight-backed in his seat, speaking when told to; otherwise he was slowly and quietly eating his slice of chocolate cake. The third person was a blond headed teenager who was sitting in a rigid posture with both his hands placed face-down on the table before him. His share of chocolate cake was still perfectly perched on the delicate China, untouched.

In the background, the soft strains of a violin could be heard, playing a perfect melody that by now was very familiar and rather hated by the young man. Perhaps hate was merely a word he chose to hide his real feelings with regard to that sickeningly sweet melody. It chills him to the bone, and he could not explain rationally to himself why this should be so.

A soft laughter could be heard above the melodious hum of the violin and a skeptical voice could be heard saying, "Man at heart is a selfish creature. I do not believe Fenton will be any different."

"I know my dad; he is a good man and he will do what needs to be done to protect his family and anyone else that needed it," a youthful voice countered rather defiantly.

But there was the slightest of a quiver in his tone and he knew it. He also knew that the Candyman knew it. He could not help the fear he was feeling. He could not help the sense of dread in his guts.

The sense of unreality started the moment he opened his eyes and found himself seated here at this table. He felt anger as he recalled being abducted and how the Candyman used Iola to entrap him in that illusionary world. The anger turned to horror as he remembered how he lured his brother and mother here into the Candyman's hands. Horror was momentarily pushed aside as guilt rose to the fore as he berated himself for the role he played in hurting his family. That guilty feeling turned to surprise as he recognized The Gray Man seated next to him. Surprise quickly morphed to dread the moment he realized that Arthur Gray was clearly under the control of The Candyman. Seeing Gray in at state already chilled him. But hearing Gray's story about being The Thirteen and what happened thirteen years ago terrified him.

But he fought hard to keep his terror under control and to present a calm and collected front. Joe refused to give the Candyman any more ammunition that could be used against him.

"You have a lot of faith in your father," the Candyman commented as he helped himself to another slice of chocolate cake from the platter before him.

Joe Hardy glared at the man who held him captive and responded in a matter of fact tone: "He never let me down. In fact, dad never let any of us down."

"And what if he did let you down one day?" The Candyman questioned on, curiosity clear on his facial features.

"My dad is only human, he makes mistakes like everyone else. But I know dad always do his best for us, and because of that, I know that he would never intentionally let any of us down." Joe asserted.

"Ah, only human, huh? I see Fenton is lucky to have a son like you who have so much faith in him." The Candyman looked thoughtful and resumed munching on his cake. "I once had such faith in my father but he failed to protect us…" He added in a voice so soft, Joe had to strain to hear it.

"Tell me about those adventures you had with your brother." The Candyman said.

And so Joe did, very much to his surprise, starting with the very first case they ever solved, _The Tower Treasure_. He told his story in his usual animated style, complete with gestures and sound effects. It was clear that the Candyman enjoyed himself immensely.

"The two of you were close," the Candyman said in a rather wistful tone as Joe finished yet another story, _Beyond the Law_, in which he and Frank helped to clear Chief Collig's name when the Chief was accused of accepting bribes.

"We would do anything for each other," Joe said.

"Would he die for you?" the Candyman asked as he sipped his mug of hot chocolate.

Joe stared at the Candyman a chill in his heart.

"Frank won't have to. I would die for him." He finally declared.

The Candyman looked at him a long while, his eyes thoughtful.

"That is an appropriate response, seeing that you're the one awake while your brother sleeps on."

"You won't be able to hold Frank there for long. He'll figure out that everything was not real. He'll figure out, and he'll come out of it, just like I did…"

A peal of laughter cut short Joe's angry tirade.

"I'm sorry to say this, Joe, but Frank won't be able to break out of that particular illusionary world." The Candyman finally said to Joe.

"Then you don't know my brother. I broke out of it. And Frank's a much more logical and methodological person than me by far. He'll soon start exploring and asking questions. He'll break out of it; it's just a matter of time."

The Candyman shook his head and commenced to give an explanation in pitying tones.

"Assuming that this is a typical psychological entrapment; then what you said might be correct, that it's all just a matter of time. Even so, Frank's case's a little different from yours. You walked in to be with Iola, and you walked out to go to Frank. The brother who you said you would be willing to die for. But Frank walked into that mind trap to be with _you_. And he believe you are dead, Joe. So tell me, why would he want to walk out again? And, being a much more methodological person, his mind would have constructed a much more detailed and realistic world than yours, making it even harder to differentiate between reality and illusion."

"But I'm not dead. Even if I was, there's still mom and dad, and Callie and his other friends. He has so much to live for…" Joe argued back, but even so he could hear himself faltering over his own words.

"But all those doesn't matter, my dear boy. This is not a typical psychological entrapment. So Frank will stay where he is now, until I let him out. Just like Gray here for the last thirteen years." The Candyman gestured at the Gray Man.

Joe could not help but suppressed a slight shiver.

"What do you mean?" Joe could not help but to ask, a fearful suspicion clear in his voice. "I broke out of it…"

"So you did." The Candyman conceded as he stared at Joe, an interested gleam in his eye. "Because you're like me. A much, much weaker version and totally untrained, but you're like me."

"No. I am not like you. I'm nothing like you," Joe whispered fiercely.

"I examined your mind inside and out, and you're like me. A weaker version, certainly, but definitely just like me." The Candyman repeated with a smile on his face.

Joe did not like that smile at all. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"I left Iola and you watching romantic comedies. So how did you end up watching your so-called horror movies? How did you end up watching real events happening around you? Have you asked yourself that question, my boy?" The Candyman asked.

No… Joe thought.

"Have you wondered why you are sitting here calmly chit chatting with me when by right you should have been either trying to escape or running around the place trying to find Frank?" The Candyman asked again.

No… Joe's eyes widened as he comprehended what was being said.

"What are you saying? What are you?" Joe just barely managed to get those few words out of his throat. He wasn't sure if the Candyman even heard him.

"That's because I'm now aware that you're somewhat like me in the sense that you have certain abilities that I have, and made allowances for that fact… as to what I am? Those who brought me here in the first place called me a demon… though after I learnt of the definition, I really do wonder…" The Candyman mulled over that for a while before turning his attention back to Joe.

"And all those hunches that you got on all those cases that help saved your lives or solved those cases when your brother and father had nary a logical clue to work on?" The Candyman continued his questions as he watched the myriad of emotions flickering across Joe's face.

"Remember the case when you mentioned that perhaps that local spy was brainwashed by the enemy into helping them but Frank gave a very rational deduction and theory why that might not be the case? You turn out to be correct didn't you?"

Joe kept his silence, and the Candyman's smile grew wider.

The Candyman leaned forward closer to Joe and stated firmly, "See, you're just like me…"

"No! I do not kill!"

For a while, the only sounds that could be heard were the heavy breathing of the man and the boy as they glared each other in the eye. This boy got guts, the Candyman smiled his approval.

_I like him_, the Candyman decided.

Then the Candyman returned to his original relaxed position, and everything went back to what it was before. In the background, the violin continued with its sickening rendition of that old tune.

Joe glared at the man before him.

"Why? Thirteen years ago, why did you do it? And why thirteen?" Joe finally asked just to fill the room with another sound other than that sickening melody.

"For many reasons, first and foremost, I wanted to get some important attention," then Candyman sighed sadly. "But the FBI and those detectives managed to track me down before I was ready, and then they covered it up so well no one else knew what happened. Then I want to go back. I want my sister back. I promised her that I'll find my way home to her. Finally, I want my vengeance. I want those who destroyed my world and took my sister away to pay."

Then his eyes turned dreamy, maybe a little fanatical.

"And thirteen. Everyone knows prime numbers are special. Prime numbers were the keys to Cryptography and all those security codes used in your computing technology. But the number thirteen is very special. It has the power to open doors. It has the power to bring me home. And on Halloween, the number 13 becomes a power number… do you know that 13 and 31 are the only known mersenne erimps? They are unique! So the spell of _the power of the thirteen_ when cast on the thirteenth hour and completed by the thirty-first minute…" his voice faded as he remembered the past. "But I was interrupted the last time…"

Then he perked up and said: "But this time I will get to go home, this time everything is planned to perfection…"

The Candyman took another glance at Joe and amended his statement. "Well perhaps there are a couple of minor glitches, but nothing that can't be fixed. Perhaps the outcome might even be better than I expected…"

Joe fought the urge to shrink back into his chair. Instead, he pressed his hands harder down onto the table before him, straightened his shoulders and forced himself to lean forward just a little.

"Why did you kill the other twelve agents? What did you do to them that traumatize Gray so much?" Joe asked in an even a tone as he could muster.

"I did not kill them, Joe." The Candyman said, amused.

Joe snorted. "Yeah, you got Gray to kill them, is that suppose to be different?"

"You are mistaken my boy, I gave the twelve of them immortality. They would stay the way they are forever."

"You might want to play the 'its-a-matter-of-perception' card, but the fact remains, you killed them. So, what did you do that left Gray so traumatized?" Joe demanded. He needed to know, so he could help later, after they got away from this crazy man. He had to believe that they could still get away somehow.

"Perhaps it is a matter of perception, Joe. It all depends on how much you like your just desserts; like jellied brains, candied hearts, gobstoppers eyeballs, caramelized spleen, glace kidneys, chocolate fingers… "

Joe's eyes bulged as he pushed away the China plate before him rather violently with trembling hands. The scent of sugar and chocolate was suddenly nauseating for him. He fought to rein in his bile, and succeeded, just barely.

Then the Candyman was speaking again in a rather excited tone.

"And I think it's time, Joe, to see how well you really know your brother and father." The Candyman said as he directed Joe's attention towards the TV set at the corner of the dining room.

The TV screen flickered. Images appeared, blurry at first, then it sharpened. Joe watched his father making his way around the Gingerbread house alone, just like he and Frank did days back. He watched as his father picked up the chopping board to read the messages engraved underneath. He watched in trepidation as the door opened behind his dad and a shadow loomed in the doorway.

It was Frank, and he was holding something in his hand.

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**Please Read and Review. Thanks very much.**

Story discussion beyond here:

I always believe that horror is most horror when its ordinary. That's why I chose things like Gingerbread house and Candyman for the title, because they aren't suppose to be scary. This chapter is suppose to be a nice little tea party, leaving the ordinariness of the conversation to carry the chill, and a sudden tweak at the end to be the sharp horror element. I failed for now- as seen from the number of times I have to depend on actually saying how Joe felt etc. But when my writing improve, I'll come back to try again.


	22. The Village, The Tower, and The Cavalry

**Ah - the next bit! That leaves me about 50 hours to edit the peak chapter just in time for Halloween night! I might just make it after all I'm sure you'd out threat and treating - so in just I don't make it, HAPPY HORRORWEEN! **

**Thanks again for all those lovely encouragement! I was really worried about the last chapter and I am glad it still managed to chill somewhat. **

**Red, PK: Glad you noted that line 'I like him' I do love Joe, but I am sure its not in the same way the Candyman does.**

**Thanks Bgees for the note. Honest, I am a little dense I think, I still am sure what those two things mean. Or maybe I am just tired. **

**Bhar: I hope you had a great hols - sorry I forgot to ask about it. And AnJellyCa: I am still as addicted to your 'Wows' **

**Okay, pls enjoy! I'm sorry if I sound a little brief and short - I'm going to try do some more editing before my baby wakes up - wish me luck, and enjoy! And are you glad this horror is almost over? **

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**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 21

THE VILLAGE, THE TOWER, AND THE CAVALRY

They took the path that led downhill, as instructed by Sam. They walked briskly and quietly, each lost in their own thoughts on the case and on their families.

"Fenton?" Madeline suddenly said.

"Yes?" Fenton gave a quick sidelong glance at the woman walking next to him.

"I've been thinking about Con's notes," Madeline said and she ignored several other glances thrown at her. "He noted that the eight of us plus our living spouses made thirteen. That does seem a little coincidental. But I am more interested in a side scribbling that read 'something about the detectives themselves'. He underlined that twice. You know Con, Fenton. Why do you think he highlighted that?"

Fenton looked at Madeline for a moment, surprised. He did not remember reading that. He must be real tired. Fenton let out a sigh as he asked Madeline to show him where Con wrote that. He shone his torch on the notes and read through everything on that page. That was no easy feat since he was still walking and dodging tree roots at that point.

The page contained all their names and that of their immediate families, plus a number of scribbles by the side:

_Retired… well-known profiler… handled fraud… track escaped convicts… white collar crime…_

Then:

_Something about the detectives… All have good reputations… creative… Persistent…_

Fenton frowned. Something there, he knew, but he just could not make any sense of it. He shook his head in disappointment.

"Don't worry about it, Fenton, I'm sure we'll figure it out, and we don't even know if Con's on the right track," Madeline told Fenton when she saw him about to start on his guilt trip again.

Fenton turned and gave her a wan smile.

"Don't worry about me, Maddy, I'm fine. And we'll nail this bastard." Fenton replied.

Then the forest opened up into a little clearing of sorts.

The detectives came to a stop and starred at the moonlit scene before them. If this had been a real Halloween Hunt, their kids would have picked the perfect haunt to freak them out.

About a dozen or so old crumbling houses lined each side of the cobblestone path before them, and that path led straight into the dark shadowed woods just about a hundred meters ahead. No those were not quite houses. Cottages would be a better description. Those grey rotting ruins looked like medieval styled cottages, the tattered thatched roofs the only thing that were protecting them from the elements. It was clear that no one had lived here for the last two, maybe even three decades.

The detectives were quiet as they made their way slowly down the path towards the shadowed woods. Perhaps it was their way of showing some respect for the dead and abandoned village. The drizzle of rainfall dampened everything it touched; giving those crumbling stones and tattered roofs a silvery sheen that effectively reflected the pale moonlight. And the cottages glowed as the detectives walked by.

The silence was total, except for the soft shuffling sounds of eight pairs of feet, which the detectives failed to silence despite their efforts to be light-footed. The need to keep quiet was intense; it's almost as if they were afraid of attracting unwanted attention.

The sounds of eight deep sighs of relief rang loud and clear the moment the detectives made it to the woods. The trees before them stood tall, dark, and twisted. The thick branches all twist and curled downwards and inwards, as if reaching out to capture and cage its prey. The contrast was stark, those crumbling cottages that glow all silvery, and now the dark colored trees here seemed to swallow up all light leaving only shadows to tell of their existence.

The detectives turned to look at each other for a moment, and then they shrugged rather helplessly before walking on. They all made their names on being logical and methodological in their approach to solving crimes. They would not let these few little magic tricks get in their way. First they find their family, and then they figure out how all those effects were achieved. There was no such thing as the supernatural.

_Or is there?_ Each detective could not help but wonder, but they quickly shoved that dangerous thought away.

The path led further downward. It was like slowly descending into hell; Fenton could not help but mused. He could barely see his feet. A white and heavy moist mist gathered around their feet as they walked, drenching through their shoes and chilled their soaked feet.

Soon, the tall dark trees seemed to part before their eyes as the forest suddenly thinned out. And they saw an old stone tower with its wicked conical roof precariously perched at a crazy angle next to a little running river at the bottom of the valley below them.

It took them another twenty minutes to get to the base of the tower. It was big but it wasn't very high – possibly eight meters at most, two or two and a half stories high. They explored the tower and its surroundings. They counted twelve opened graves each with a half-opened coffin, placed at equal intervals around the tower. It spooked them a little; they could see that on each other's faces. They have just been reminded of Gray.

There was no way in, no doors but for a window at the top of the tower.

"What now?" someone asked.

"We searched for a way to make some sort of a rope and get ourselves up there." Mathew answered.

Fenton stood where he was and he continued to scan his environs. Somehow, this entire setup felt familiar. It was as if he saw it before somewhere. Yet, how could he?

"Are you okay, Fenton?" Gaby asked when he noticed that Fenton was not helping them make that rope.

Fenton did not answer. He stared at the trees. He stared at the little river of water next to the tower. He turned back to the tower, his mind working furiously.

_Hansel and Gretel… Little Red Riding Hood… Gingerbread… Yes!_

This place was that scene from _The Brothers' Grimm_! The Brothers' Grimm…_was there a story in there that has a tower with a window?_ Fenton asked himself. _Yes, there is one!_

Fenton ran to the spot just beneath the window, he looked up, and called out:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

Let down thy hair."

A long thick braid of golden tresses appeared at window, and slowly made its way down to the ground where the detectives stood and waited with pounding hearts.

**_HBHBHB_**

Max gave a curt nod as Ezra confirmed they got the bookings for the seaplanes to fly over to West Fire Island. It was good that everyone in this room was now on name basis. It showed that they were comfortable working together.

He called for the men to gather for a final mission briefing before setting off. There were twelve of them; Seven FBIs and 5 BPD officers. They would have to be enough. Max did not want to do anything to risk alerting the Secret Service. That was, if they don't already know where to find the Candyman.

Bayport PD had proven to be remarkably efficient and Fenton certainly had friends there. And that kid, Phil Cohen, was a real whiz with computers. If not for him, they would have no idea where to go next. Max made a mental note, adding the Cohens to his list of freelancers.

After Max commented that he wished he could see what was on the papers that Gray handed Fenton, Phil had quickly returned to his keyboard. And soon, they were looking at the magnified image of two maps.

"FBI uses High Definition recording allowing a 20X optical zoom, and I added another 5X digital zoom and a little bit of fuzzy logic to retrieve these," that kid explained.

He was impressed.

The map made no sense, but there were two sets of numbers there. It took all of them an hour to figure out what that meant. Ezra had his wife called on a special favor to get them late night access to the library where they found the book. After deducing the tower was where the detectives went, it didn't take Einstein to figure out that the twelve digits were coordinates. And Phil did a quick search to match them to a location right on West Fire Island.

Max h ad to smile at Phil's reluctance to leave. Max could see that the boy was worried for his friends. The kid's done all he could, and its time for the professionals to take over. So Max had spared a couple of minutes to talk to him.

"We'll bring them back safe," he promised, and hoped he could keep it.

And Mr. Cohen led his reluctant son out of the room. But not before Max thought he caught the merest hint of a gleam in the boy's eyes.

Then Chief Collig was tapping his hands on the table calling for attention and distracted him. He pulled Max over to the head of the table, and Max started his briefing.

"Okay people, listen up. We know 26 years ago a little known segment of the Secret Service did a Halloween Project and created the Candyman. We do not really know the nature of that project, even though the notes I have here seemed to indicate some occult basis for that project. But, we do know that they want him back at all cost. The problem here is that the Candyman currently possibly holding 28 hostages in whatever mad game he was playing. The eight civilian detectives, their spouses, their 13 children, and possibly Arthur Gray and Sam Radley… And we need to get those 28 men and women out unharmed. With Phil's help, we have pin-point a highly possible position. Thanks to Officer Riley's connection with the paramedics at Saltaire, Fire Island, we have a medical team with their choppers on standby. We'll be going in on two private chartered seaplanes. Since there is no current map of the island, we'll just have to improvise as we get there… any questions? "

A hand raised and a number of questions blurted forth from Bill Murphy, one of Bayport PD's officers:

"I have some questions. First, the SS was created to handle currency fraud and to protect the head of state, so why were they involved in something that this kind of typical cold war military stuff? Second, why are you so certain this group of SS would kill everyone just to get the Candyman? Why is he so important to them?"

Max stared at Bill for a moment, and having gathered his thoughts, answered.

"Yes, the SS was created for the purpose you specified. But it seemed we might have a rogue section. Whoever they are, they ranked high, very high. Otherwise I would not have suddenly discovered how many more bosses I have up there above me that I have to answer to. And so, no, I have no idea who or what the Candyman is…"

_Why did I say 'what'?! _Max wondered but made himself continue with his speech.

"But I know the Candyman is crazy – otherwise he would not have constructed that crazy panopticon of a labyrinth thirteen years ago. I was there, racing down those crazy halls…" Max paused for a moment to suppress an involuntary shiver as he recalled that crazy maze he ran through before he continues.

"And I do know they want him at any cost. Remember the 13 pieces of candies that Arthur Gray got? Well, they aren't body parts from the victims thirteen years ago as per the original forensic results we received. They were 13 bullets, special SS issued bullets, and the bloods on all those bullets were DNA-matched to the 13 FBI agents abducted 13 years ago…"

**_HBHBHB_**

Fenton was cursing angrily to himself as he opened the next door before him. It's a playground this time. He was hopelessly lost and he knew it. Even worse, he was alone. The Candyman had managed to separate them all. They'd all be easy pickings now…

But he kept his anger up. It was his one defense against the overwhelming despair that was threatening to set in.

_How the heck did they allow that to happen?_ Fenton asked himself for the hundredth time now.

He cursed again as he recalled what happened after they all climbed into the tower through that window. They were faced with two doors and decided to split into two groups.

That was their first mistake.

Then he and the other five were walking down this long corridor and they were spread out too far from each other. Next they knew, a wall dropped in on them, and then they were three.

That was when Fenton got a real bad feeling about the whole thing.

Then they were walking through this series of gingerbread rooms, each tastefully furnished with beautifully made gingerbread and sweets furnishings. The detectives were reminded of another similar journey they made thirteen years back. The setting might be a little different, but it was equally intricately bizarre.

Next to disappear was Madeline. She opened a door, screamed and was yanked through it by someone. Fenton and Gaby had rushed to the door and tried to open it but to no avail. Finally, the door opened, but there was no one there in that nursery.

And in the nursery, the rocking horse rocked.

Fenton and Gaby walked on. They could not go back, because they no longer knew the way. They kept an eye on each other and stayed close as they continued their exploration of the strange labyrinth they found themselves in. Their partnership did not last long.

Fenton stepped onto a trapdoor and fell.

He could still hear Gaby yelling for him as the trapdoor slammed shut above him. Then he was on a slide-ride of his life, and was soon deposited on a giant fluffy pillow. It took his old bones several long minutes to crawl out of that soft plushy cushion. And when he did, he walked out of the only door of that room. There was no other choice open to him.

He walked through a bedroom, a library, a billiards room.

The next room he stepped into was the kitchen.

How interesting! He thought. For a moment, he wondered how the mechanics of cooking worked in a gingerbread kitchen. Then he realized this room was different. This was the first room he he'd seen with real-life furnishings, unlike the pure gingerbread décor of all the other rooms. The ovens were real, the stove was real, the cooking cutleries and knives were real…

He went to the gingerbread sink and turn on the tap. Water flowed. He reached in for the cool waters to give his face a quick wash. He needed it to clear away all the sweat and grime that he accumulated through his hike through the forest and tumble through this maze of gingerbread rooms.

That was when he saw the message on the wall above the sink behind the tap.

He turned and headed towards the table. There was the recipe book, the cutleries, the knives, and the chopping board. That was one big flat wooden chopping board, Fenton noted. He turned it around. There were messages carved onto it!

And that was Joe's message! And Frank's! They're here, Fenton thought. He could not help but feel a little relief knowing that his sons were really here somewhere. Suddenly, it did not matter that he had no idea where they were and that he had no idea how to get out of this place. What mattered was that he would see his family soon. He knew that now with absolute certainty.

Suddenly, Fenton felt the hairs on his neck rise. He thought he heard a voice screaming 'dad', and he moved just in time to avoid the downward slash of a silvery blade.

He looked up, shocked to see his eldest standing there before him. Still there was a short moment of joy that swiftly faded away as he noted the lackluster appearance of his eldest's eyes.

"Frank?" He called out tentatively with both his hands raised before him in a placating gesture. "Frank, listen…"

That was as far as he got, and Frank was onto him again.

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**Please Read and Review. Thanks very much.**

Story discussion beyond here:


	23. A GRIMM’S HALLOWEEN DAWN

**Ah - the final bit! I'm sorry I'm just a little late. lol - I can't believe that I started this post like in late June. Even with outlines and drafts, still took me like 4 months!!! **

**But this chapter's difficult too, having to balance exposition, action, and hopefully horror. It is still the horror element that stumped me most. I can only hoped it worked... The other bit was also of course this is a very long chapter, double the length of my usual chapter - technically it should be 2 chapters - like you know the double episode ending to some TV series like supernatural.**

**So - you may say, this is the end for this season **

**Since this is my first attempt at psychological horror mystery, please please let me know how I did. I also said no gore, I hope that I have achieved that too. Whatever it is, please enjoy the story now, and story discussion below. Please read and comment.**

* * *

**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

Chapter 22

A GRIMM'S HALLOWEEN DAWN

"DAD!"

And Joe felt a sense of immense relief as his father move just on time to avoid that slashing blade. Frank would never be able to live with hurting their father in anyway, he knew.

Did his dad hear him? Joe wondered.

"Yes, he heard you," the Candyman answered in a most casual tone. "They're just next door, by the way."

Joe's first instinct was to jump off his chair to run over next door. But he could not. Something held him in place, and he was forced to watch with a pounding heart as his father and brother fought.

"Let me go!" Joe managed to force the words out through clenched teeth, his eyes still glued to the TV screen.

"Please!" He begged, desperately so, as he watched his dad barely avoid another slash from Frank's blade.

Suddenly he realized that the Candyman was standing behind him, hands resting on his shoulders. He could feel the warm moist breath next to his right ear.

"I see you're starting to understand the nature of the power I wield, Joe. And I am goading Fenton on. He'll kill Frank if I want him to. But I do like you, and I can teach you. What say you if we make a bet and a deal?" the Candyman whispered enticingly into his ear, and his eyes widened as he listened.

**_HBHBHB_**

Fenton could feel sheer desperation coursing through him. It was the desperation of a cornered animal condemned to die, terror rose in him, primitive and raw, furiously stoking the anger that was already there. The part of him that wanted to live took over, blanking out all other thoughts but that of survival. It gave him an unexpected surge of strength and agility.

Somehow, he won. His attacker was now held immobile under his body weight, his own knife raised high, ready for the deadly downward plunge.

Adrenaline laced triumph edged him on, his anger demanded retribution of sorts. Yet something held him back. Somehow, the word 'kill' did not sit well with him. He took another look with anger-glazed eyes at his attacker who now lay so pliant beneath him.

The familiarity of those brown eyes shook him. It dulled his need for blood just a little. But that little was enough for the civilized Fenton to regain a hold on himself. It enabled him to recognize who it was he almost killed.

He sprang off his son's pliant body, shocked by what he almost did. When he was a safe distance away, the knife in his hand dropped and clattered onto the floor. He sank onto his knees, starring at his trembling hands. The hands that carried Frank as an infant and brought him up into the young man that he was today; the same hands that almost ended his son's life.

He loathed himself for that.

So he simply sat there and watched as Frank slowly started to move again. He closed his eyes.

**_HBHBHB_**

In the wet and drizzly sky not so high above West Fire Island, two seaplanes circled, looking for a suitable place to land. There was nowhere on the island itself where they could land. It's either dense forest or soft swampland.

"Strange," Max murmured as he thought he saw some little houses on the island. "Wasn't this island supposed to be uninhabited?"

But it was a dark, wet and misty night. He could have been mistaken.

Then the pilot from the other plane signaled. They found a newly constructed wooden pier and was requesting for instructions. Both he and Ezra Collig exchanged a look and he turned and gave a curt nod to Jack Wayne. Jack Wayne was Fenton's personal pilot and a good friend who could be trusted to keep a secret. Since the pilot of the other plane was one of his own men from the FBO, Max had to acknowledge the irony that the cavalry to the rescue also consist of thirteen men.

Soon, everyone was gathered in the tiny clearing just beyond the wooden pier.

"Dammit!" Ezra cursed. "Why isn't our CB radios working?!"

"Something's jamming it, sir," one of his men responded as he tried his radio and got only static.

Max glared at the handsets for a moment before calling for everyone to gather around him.

"Remember what I said before? We improvise. Here's our map of the island. We'll split into four teams, and each scour a quarter of the island. The time now is five to midnight; we'll meet back here at half-past midnight to report on your findings. Remember, be careful, watch out for SS agents, and do not engage the enemy when you find him. Understand? Report back here first." Max finished. "Now go!"

A hesitant and youthful voice asked, "Wouldn't it be better to wait for dawn, sir? I mean, Halloween's tomorrow night, isn't it?"

Max turned and stare the young man from BPD in the eye.

"You're mistaken, Ron," Max said curtly. "Halloween starts in 5 minutes, and it ends tomorrow night. That's why we need to hurry."

And in a more quiet tone that went unheard by anyone but himself, "we might be too late already…"

**_HBHBHB_**

Fenton was fighting his way out of the darkness. As the darkness faded, a sharp spike of pain spiraled up from the base of his neck where Frank hit him. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. At least Frank knew where to hit exactly, so he should not have to worry about the possibility of concussion.

"Fenton? Can you hear me?"

That was a familiar voice. Laura?

He forced opened his eyes to find himself in a huge golden brown room dimly lit by the lights of twelve giant candles placed in a circle at the center of the room. He was tied firmly to a high back chair. The amount of ropes around him and the way it was knotted virtually guaranteed immobility. In the center of the room was a huge circle drawn onto the floor. Within that circle was a mess of drawings and symbols which he could barely see in the flickering candle light, much less decipher. What chilled him were the 12 thick wooden boards placed at equal intervals around the circle, each equipped with what looked like sturdy leather cuffs.

Right at the far end of the room stood a wall-length mirror. For some reason, that mirror seems to glow in an eerie light. Fenton shivered involuntarily.

"Fenton?" That voice called him again, and he turned towards it, to see his wife looking worriedly at him.

"Thank god you're all right," Laura said, clearly relieved.

"Laura…" Fenton whispered.

For a moment, he just look at his wife, took in all her features. Her sparkling blue eyes that had drawn him in since the first time he met her. Then he looked away. He failed her.

"I'm so sorry, Laura," he whispered.

"Good to see you back _compos mentis_ with us, Fenton, buddy." That was Mike's voice, Fenton realized. "Let me guess, you let your kid slug you too, huh?"

Fenton returned a weak smile.

"Any idea how I got here?" he asked Mike.

"I watch Gray drag you in here, I guess I got the same treatment." Mike responded with a careless shrug that did little to hide his growing dread.

They were all screwed and they all knew it.

The detectives and their spouses were all tightly bound to identical heavy high-back chairs. The thirteen chairs were arranged in a semi-circle – to give all of them a perfect view of what would be happening within that ritual circle later.

The only door to the room opened, and all eyes were invariably drawn to it. And the thirteen tightly bound parents waited with bated breath. Gray and Sam walked in. Sam laid himself down to sleep by the door, and Gray did the same by the mirror. Fenton wondered if there was any significance to that.

Then the first of the children filed in dressed in identical singlets and shorts.

"Joe!" Fenton heard Laura called out in a voice that was both joyful and fearful.

But his youngest ignored them. Frank walked in next, followed by the rest.

Fenton (and the rest of the detectives) watched with a heavy sense of dread as Joe (and the other kids of theirs) headed straight to the circle in the center of the room. Fenton felt his heart pick up pace he saw Joe lying down onto the wooden board and stretch out his arms and legs. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Frank bend down to secure his own brother firmly to that wooden board.

_No! Please, not Frank! Not _Fenton thought bleakly. He could hear the other parents calling out desperately to their own children, trying frantically yet futilely to reason with them, to get through to them. Fenton alone did not bother to call out. This was a show of power, a demonstration of absolute control over their children. And he had this bad feeling that he need to conserve his energy for what was to come. So he ignored them all, instead focusing his full attention on his eldest. _Please don't let it be Frank!_ He pleaded. Then he saw Frank lying down on the board next to Joe, and he could breathe again. And the knowledge that not being The Thirteen meant death came crashing down on him, and his eyes stung. He watched dully on as their children slowly strapped each other down one by one. A part of his mind noted that they were strapped down in order from the youngest to the oldest… and that means…

"No! John…" A pain filled voice cried out when John finished strapping down the twelfth victim, then sat down at the center of the circle and waited. Fenton felt his heart goes out to Mathew. He did not deserve this. No one deserved this! And he wondered, how would he feel about Mathew later if John killed Frank and Joe? Then again, this might all be moot, since they might not get to live the aftermath.

And the door opened once more.

Footsteps could be heard, getting louder and louder with each passing second. Maniacal laughter followed, echoing into the room from the corridors beyond. The parents shuddered at that mad laugh, and the husbands comforted their wives who heard it for the first time.

The candle lights danced and flickered casting moving shadows where there should be done. A tiny squeak could be heard that was quickly suppressed. Someone else was sobbing.

The eight detectives exchanged glances, their mouths drawn into a grim line. It seemed that they would finally know the identity of that psycho. Fenton only wished that they were meeting in a situation where they at least had a fighting chance.

And a man appeared at the open door…

The room stilled for a moment, even the candles stopped flickering. Or so it seemed to those who sat tied to their respective chairs. The detectives all fought to rein in their terror, but could not help the shiver that ran through them. They were so well conditioned from what they saw thirteen years back, and what they had just gone through to get here.

It was not the gore that spooks them back then. It was the absolute craziness of it all, so bizarre; yet so probable that it shook their sense of humanity. And then there was the Candyman in all his brightly colored candied finery looking like he stepped out of a comic book.

Now, Fenton admitted, what spooked him most about the man before him was the fact that he was like him. Pardon his confusing language, but his brain was struggling to function at the moment. He wanted to laugh. The Candyman looked about the same age as Fenton, and was dressed in jeans and a polo top, just like Fenton did when he readied himself for a game of golf.

"Surprised?" The Candyman addressed Fenton. "I've learned that I have no need for frills, unlike the last time."

The Candyman gestured and suddenly Fenton felt like he was two inch tall seated before a giant. Just as quickly, that sharp flare of terror dulled. But something remained. Fenton could feel the sweat forming on his brows. A sidelong glance and the sound of heavy rasping breaths told Fenton he wasn't the only one thusly affected.

"You're a monster," one of the detectives said, his voice portraying disbelief and shock.

Mocking laughter filled the air.

"Monster? What's the definition of a monster? One that inspires horror or disgust, I believe? Do I inspire horror? I supposed. But what about you? Did you not almost kill your own child? In fact, I had to step in to stop one of you! What make you any less than the monster that you called me?" There was no mistaking the contempt in that voice.

"You bastard! You set us up! You wanted me to kill my own son!" Fenton was first to react to that accusation while the others were still trying to overcome the almost truth of the Candyman's statement. "But our kids lived, guys. We did not kill them!" Fenton firmly reminded the others.

The Candyman smiled. He loved a worthy opponent.

"And you Fenton, you abandoned your best friend and partner. You left Sam behind when it was so clear that he was vulnerable."

Fenton felt as if someone plunged a blade into his guts. And the Candyman had to twist that blade.

"Twice…"

_Twice, yes, I abandoned Sam twice…_ Fenton acknowledged guiltily.

"They call me a demon childe, do you know that…" the Candyman said quietly and dreamily to no one in particular.

Then Fenton heard a tortured gasp, and a familiar feminine voice rasped most painfully, "No, please, not you, not you…. Why?"

Everyone turned their attention to Madeline. But her bright shuttered eyes were on the Candyman. They knew she knew him.

"Why? Jack, why?" she asked. "Did you ever love me, or was it all a pretense?" She had to know. Then anger rose. "You used me!" She accused. She ignored all the sympathetic glances thrown her way. Suddenly another thought hit her. _No! No…_ "Jack, please, tell me you didn't. You didn't kill Harry, tell me you didn't kill Harry," she begged, horrified.

"No, I did not kill Harry," the Candyman said, only to add, "You did. You and Fenton."

There was silence for a moment. Everyone was clearly shocked by that statement.

Laura's mouth opened to angrily refute that statement, but Madeline beat her to it.

"I would never kill my husband, and Fenton's no killer!"

Jack the Candyman merely laughed and shook his head at her denials.

"I met Harry at a bar. He was drowning in his sorrows. His wife fell out of love with him and loved another… that was why cancer claimed him; he lost his will to live on… Don't you have anything to say, Fenton? Did your wife know?"

Fenton was taken by surprise and was for a moment too shocked to react to the accusation that he was responsible in any way for Harry's death.

But Laura, Laura, blessed her, turned on Jack and hissed, "Harry lost his will to live, that has nothing to do with my husband!"

"What a loyal and spirited woman you married, Fenton!" Jack threw Laura an appreciative glance before reaching out to grab her chin and tilting it upwards towards him. "Can you be absolutely certain that he had always been faithful? All those trips he had away from home, all those lonely nights?"

"My husband had never and will never cheat on me." Laura's tone was absolute as she glared angrily back, her fear gone for the moment.

"I admit I was tempted," Fenton said quietly, and met Laura's eyes as she turned around to face him. "But Laura, I never cheated on you. I've like you since the first time we met at that party so many years ago. And now, now I know I love you, and that there's no one else for me…"

"I know." Laura said simply, and Fenton felt humbled by her easy acceptance and her faith in him. He knew he was indeed a fortunate man.

For a moment, silence reigned as the two looked each other in the eye, reliving their past together, relishing each joyful moment and learning chapter of their lives.

The silence was shattered by a single crisp and loud 'CLAP". That was followed by a second, then a third…

"Bravo!" Jack applauded. "Well Fenton, I hope you know how fortunate you are, to have the unwavering faith of such remarkable persons like Joe and Laura, and no doubt Frank. I'm tempted to test that faith further… But, enough said. It's almost time…"

"Time for what?" Fenton asked. He knew it was for whatever occult ritual the Candyman had planned in his mad belief of the supernatural. But the precision of everything around him also told him that the Candyman was obsessive about the timing. That_The Spell of the Power of The Thirteen_ hinged on perfect timing. If he could delay everything long enough and screw up the timing, then maybe they could drive the Candyman over the edge. Then maybe they would have a chance…

"Why, time for me to go home, of course!" Jack the Candyman answered, his brows lifted in surprise, as if he was amazed that the esteemed detectives before him had not figured it all out yet. "Your kind took me from my home, separated me from my sister, and destroyed everything I knew. So your kind's going to pay the price and get me home."

"And you think killing 12 people will get you home? Please, think, Jack. Marianna and Drusilla may not be your flesh and blood, but they called you 'father' for eight years, Jack. Are you going to just kill them?" Madeline tried to appeal to her former husband whom she thought was dead for two years. "As for your sister, we can help you, Jack. We're all detectives, very good ones. Let our kids go, and we'll not take another case until we find your sister, all right?"

She turned to solicit approval from the other detectives and received unanimous nods in return.

"If you don't believe us, you can continue to hold our kids hostage," Madeline tried again. "Just don't kill them."

Jack appeared to mull over that offer, then shook his head most regretfully. "Sorry Maddy. You've been a good wife for eight years, and Mari and Dru are good kids. I can't risk you guys coming back to attempt a rescue – do you think I don't know what you are all thinking about? And, I do want to go home…"

"The Spell of Thirteen, whatever that is, requires thirteen sacrifices, right?" Laura suddenly cut in, her eyes pleading. "Well, there are 13 of us parents here. Let our kids go and take us instead."

She could hear everyone holding their breaths as Jack pondered on that offer.

"Yes, take us instead…" A number of other voices seconded Laura's offer, making her feel better about having made it in the first place. She was scared that she had been a little on the presumptuous side, but she was desperate. Nothing else mattered. Only that her babies get to live.

Jack gave Laura a candy sweet smile, causing chills to run down her spine.

"I knew I like you for a reason, Laura." Jack said. "But, I still need a _Thirteen_."

Laura felt her mouth go dry. She saw Fenton paled. She had no idea what being _The Thirteen_ entailed, but from Fenton's reaction, she knew it could not be anything good.

"You chose John to be The Thirteen." Mathew said calmly. "I'll take his place. It's only fair. Whatever we did to prevent you from going home 13 years ago, we'll pay that debt today. Just let all the kids go…"

But the Candyman ignored him and focused instead on Laura, and then turned his attention to Fenton.

"We're the same age, you and I. What if I chose you? Could you kill them? Could you kill your own wife?"

Fenton stared back at that crazy psycho. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He was totally unprepared for this. He was prepared to die for his family. But to kill…

His hands started trembling despite the tightness of the ropes. He could feel the tremors spread up his arms…

"Make your decision now, Fenton. Yes or no? The parents or the kids? I don't have time to play with you here." Jack said in a bored tone as he headed back to the circle.

He could hear the others calling out to him, telling him things. But his mind was not registering anything. As Jack neared the circle, the voices turned into pleas.

_Do it, Fenton… Please… you have to… For the kids… We won't blame you… not your fault… please…_

Then, he heard the one voice that made the decision for him.

"I'll always love you, Fent." That was Laura.

"Wait!" Fenton called out. He took a deep breath. "I… I'll do it…" he choked out. "Just let the kids go… let my kids go…" He closed his eyes, he did not want to see anyone from now on, not even Laura. It hurts too much to even think about it.

The Candyman halted. He turned around and eyed Fenton, his own eyes taking on a dreamy appearance.

"If my own father were that strong-willed and loyal…" Jack murmured a little sadly.

Then he shrugged and continued into the ritual circle.

"You said we could replace our kids!" An outraged and terrified voice yelled out.

"No offense intended, my friends. I have great respect for all of you. Especially for your family, Hardy. It seems that your son was right about you after all." Jack said in a respectful tone. "Sorry, but I've already got another offer. Wake up, Joe… and you know what to do."

Fenton's eyes shot opened. He heard Laura gasped. He watched a chill in his heart, as Joe began to move. He watched the leather straps around his younger son loosened, even though no one was there to undo it. That was when he finally factored in the possibility of real supernatural involvement. Not that he never entertained that possibility. He just refused to acknowledge it.

And the guilt factor rolled in. He should have! He should have explored all possibilities! Now, his family's going to pay the price for his rigid thinking and refusal to accept the supernatural. And Joe… what was the deal that psycho was talking about?

He called out to his son, desperate to know. But Joe ignored him, even though he could see that his younger son was definitely no longer a walking automaton. He watched in dread as Joe carefully and gently strapped John onto the board he vacated.

So Fenton turned on the Candyman instead.

"Please, Jack, he's only 17, just a kid. Let him go, and I'll do anything. PLEASE!" he begged, even though he knew in his heart that it was hopeless. He could hear his wife making the same pleas.

"You should be proud of your son, Fenton," Jack said. "More importantly, you should have more faith in his negotiating skills."

After Joe finished securing John to the board, he stood up. He threw Jack a defiant look before walking over to his parents. For a moment, he let sadness and regrets flow through him. Then he pushed it all aside. He was doing the right thing, he knew. He knelt down before his mom, and lifted his eyes to her. He could see her love and fear for him in her eyes. It warmed him like nothing else.

"I love you, mom. You're the greatest." Joe said simply.

"Joe, whatever…" Laura started.

But Joe silenced her with his finger. _Hush, trust me_, he told her. Then he reached up, gave her a kiss on her forehead and a hug and he moved on, as his mother stared at his retreating back with tear-filled eyes.

He stopped before his dad.

"Joe… please don't…" Fenton tried to dissuade his son from whatever deal he made.

But Joe merely shook his head.

"It's really the best option, dad. Trust me." Joe said in a firm tone loud enough for everyone to hear. "This way, no one dies."

That got everyone's attention.

Then Joe reached over to give his dad a hug, just like the one he gave his mom. _Love you too, dad,_ he whispered. He could hear his dad whispering back the same words. After a while, he stepped away from his father. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.

"Dad, I need you to promise something. I would like everyone to promise me something." Joe started off a little hesitantly.

Fenton looked his son in the eye. What? He asked.

"Anything, kid," someone else answered.

"That you'll get to the bottom of Project Halloween conducted 26 years ago. It was done by someone from the Secret Service, that's all I know." Joe said, then rushed to add. "You don't have to solve that case of course, just promise that you'll try your best, that's all…" Then he faltered and he finished off in a much softer tone. "I mean, it's okay if you can't find out anything…"

Before anyone could react, the Candyman announced in a loud clear voice, "Its time, Joe."

Joe gave a curt nod and headed back into the circle, ignoring everything else that was being said.

The clock struck one.

"Ah, the thirteenth hour!" Jack stated, a happy smile on his face. "The thirteenth that was also the first!"

Fenton watched horrified as Joe reached for that golden blade at his feet. He watched in fear as his son used that blade to cut himself on his palm. He watched the blood dripped into a little chalice.

By then, everyone was quiet. It was clear that there was no longer any point in talking. So they watched instead. They could only hope that whatever that young kid said about no one dying was true.

And the father and mother watched as their son walked towards Frank.

Joe dipped that golden blade into the chalice, and then turned towards his brother. He lowered the tip of the blade onto the exposed right shoulder and started tracing a series of symbols, murmuring the lines he was taught along the way. When he finished, he moved on to the next. And the next…

Finally, he was done.

He started to move back to the center of the circle for the final part of the spell. He stopped just outside of the center and turned to the Candyman.

"I've done my part, and will do the rest. I will not back off. Now, let them all go!" Joe demanded.

Jack the Candyman smiled and turned to Fenton.

"I really do like your son. Your family is most remarkable." Jack said.

Then he tilted his head a little and started to focus on each one of the children still strapped onto their board. And slowly, one by one, they awakened. There was no mistaking the joyous exclamations from the respective parents. They shot Joe a grateful look. All except for Fenton and Laura. They still had no idea the nature of the deal Joe made. It worried and terrified them in equal measure.

Fenton watched with mixed emotions as Joe ran towards his brother. He watched as Joe hugged Frank and they exchanged a few words. He could see Frank's struggles and heard his elder's angry voice as Joe moved away. He knew whatever was coming up would not be a happy ending for his family. And in that moment, he hated everyone else in that room. Most of all, he hated himself. He hated himself for failing his family.

Then the Candyman's voice shook him out of his self-induced guilt.

"Thirty one seconds left, Joe."

Joe stepped into the circle, and finished up the remaining incantations. When he finished, he lifted his head and stared straight into the mirror.

Everything in the room stilled.

Fenton held his breath. It seems that nothing was happening. He was terrified that would drove Jack over the edge and that might be bad for everyone since they were all immobilized.

Then, they all heard it.

Something creaking and grinding. The candle light started to flicker just a little bit more wildly. Or was that just their over-tensed imagination?

The mirror at the end of the room started to shimmer and bulge. The silvery surface dulled and faded to grey. The grey darkened and turned to black.

Fenton suddenly realized that his younger son now stood with Gray just before that blackhole that was the mirror. And he looked just like Gray. Terror rose from his guts. Denial screamed through his mind, but no words came out of his mouth. A part of him was still hoping, still pleading.

The Candyman laughed.

_And Joe… Joe…_

Jack turned to Fenton and gave a respectful salute.

"I am most impressed with your son. He did not tell you everything because he did not want you to feel bad if you failed. Honestly, I feel a little sorry for your family, I do not believe the others will help you. But he does. He believed too much in the goodness in his kind, I say. But that was his choice. For his sake, I will tell you this. He will stay with me until the past comes to light, and the ashes of the Halloween project is laid to rest. Right that wrong, Fenton, and I'll return your son to you."

Then he turned to Frank.

"Your brother has faith that you could do anything, Frank. I certainly hope you do not let him down."

"Let him go!" Frank shouted back.

"Or take me with you!" he pleaded when Jack ignored him, and Jack still ignored him.

Then Jack tilted his head to one side, as if listening for something.

"Ah, I hear the cavalry approaching. It's time for us to go, my friends."

The door burst opened and a number of people rushed in.

"Hands in the air or we'll shoot!" someone shouted with his gun pointed at the three standing before the mirror.

Jack merely laughed as he stepped backward and faded into the blackhole of a mirror while Gray and Joe shielded him. Then Gray stepped back into the darkness and disappeared, and Joe followed.

That blackhole became a mirror again.

The members of the FBI and BPD stared at what happened in utter disbelief.

Three voices screamed _NO!_ But Joe was gone.

The room begun to shake, as if there was an earthquake occurring. Cracks started to appear in the ceilings and dust rained down on them. Screams of terror could be heard.

The mirror shattered.

Sam started to stir.

The cavalry rushed in to untie everyone and to get them out safely. And just after the last person was forcefully bundled out of the room, the entire ceiling collapse, taking whatever secrets of that room with it…

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**Please Read and Review. Thanks very much.**

Story discussion beyond here:

Note 1: Regarding the silver thread, Candyman had Sam Radley removed it so as to make the others waste time searching for the tower. This is in case anyone noticed. I couldn't find a way to insert this little fact and still keep the flow.

Thanks all who have spent time and efforts commenting and helping me out. It was greatly appreciated. I've enjoyed writing this immensely, and hope that you guys enjoyed reading this immensely too. I'm especially grateful to Moogs and Anjellyca for their unwavering support since day one. It was most touching and most treasured, I really appreciated that! For Bgees and PK - your comments are invaluable. I've said it often, and I find I must say this again. Thank you. TA, yours the loveliest birthday gift I got. Bhar: I hope you're not disappointed ...

I just want to write thanks for everyone one on one, but I am really quite exhausted. I'm not sure I want to do this kind of a scheduled run again - lol.

Franknjoe: please please let me know what caused the confusion so I can fix it.

If you're still interested, I'll continue sooner. But it'll start as a separate story, because I start to get really mess up when a story exceed 20-25 chapters. Think of it as a new season's screening.

Note 2: Jack Nashel ... rearrange Nashel and you get Hansel.

PK: of course the story cant end here if I want it posted at the HDA ... first part is Halloween Horror, second part is -evil grin- . But I'll need a break before getting back to this ... pending interest as usual. It was my original intention to do a Halloween through to Christmas run, but now I can't because of the move to HK -signs- I could almost make christmas next year! ;p


	24. Afterword and SNIPPETS

AFTERWORD

Just wanted to say thanks very much for leaving those notes and comments for me. I will take them into serious consideration as I modify the second part of this story. Next season's snippets below of course

I just want to say, it was really not my intention to end on a Cliffie and do a sequel. Gingerbread really is one whole story. I really hated that sort of thing, really. A number of factors, most of it unplanned, led to this. Originally, the spell of the Thirteen was just meant to be posted on a 31st, with the ending on Halloween. But when I realized I can't make it, I modify it just a teeny bit, and had the spell part done on Halloween instead - with no change to plot. I guess it also made sense to break at Halloween, given the move coming up. The Double-Chapter GRIMM'S DAWN was really the climax as in the turning point of this story. Beyond here, the tone should change subtly. Again, I can only hope it worked. And I think starting as a "fresh" season might actually be good for me, since I really get rather stressed after a story exceed 20 chapters for some reason. Guess I am really a short story person. Now, I actually feel excited about my next chapter one...

Josie: Thanks for letting me know you enjoyed it. I know my stories are well weird - I've been told often I "managed to pull them off". LOL - I have to confess it does many times make me wonder at how to interpret that. I'll try to start the 2nd part ASAP. I guess I could start now, really, since the entire story is already drafted. But updates would be really really sporadic - that is after chapter 1 or 2, there might be no updates till I settle in my new place say Jan '08.

UKfan: LOL - I confess to planning this rather -er- "mean cliffie" but as explained, its a natural place to break as the turning point of the story. But glad you enjoyed the read. Moving? I don't know about moving at other times. But moving that close to christmas I can tell ya is a bad bad thing. I am tempted to take Bhar's advice and get a strait jacket for my baby... I hope HK is baby friendly... Abt Why is it always Joe? I know, asked myself that question several times over and I had wanted it to be Frank. Then I realized, Joe would be the logical choice (not typical ), really... for this story anyway.

Bgeesfan: Again, thanks for your very very fantastic support. Each time you mention details always contributed to me improving on my story, either forward or backward. So, saying that, I am sure when you finally post, I would enjoy your story. I'm certain it would be good. I really do not mind trying to accommodate what Dr. Wong or Olivet might think, since I really have a psychologist-doctor in the 2nd half of the story - it would be good to give some background to that character. So if you would help a little, I might just be able to do that - Which L&O is that, and is anyone in particular in New York? I can try getting some episodes of that bit to watch and get some idea. Might PM you to ask some stuff about characteristics. I confess to being tempted to fly Grissom (or Charlie) over from Las Vegas just to comment as a personal favor to Max or Fenton. LOL (Yeah, I love CSI and Numbers) but felt I should not complicate my already tediously complicated story.

Moogs, Bhar: As mentioned, I can always post the first chapter of the 'next season' and maybe even the second before my net gets cut off on 26th Nov. I already got my 2-4 pages draft for all the chapters - just need to edit those broken English into proper narratives . But the rest would have to wait till when I'm settled on the other side. So just let me know your preference.

FranknJoe: I am very very grateful and happy that you reread the whole thing and for your very detailed comments. THANKS THANKS THANKS. Now, as to your questions. Some of them would be answered in the second part of the story, so I shall not touch on most of those. And Yes, this is a Hardy Mystery, even if it is a Horror Mystery. So you got some good guesses. Regarding the Gingerbread House - I will go back and fix this bit, so I will explain it here now so that those who are not interested do not have to reread it. The detectives climb up the tower, they saw two doors, split into two groups. Behind the doors were stairs, so they went down. The "gingerbread house" was underground. That's why Frank (and all the 'children') did not see any windows as they wondered around. The story in the architecture book also mentioned dungeons under sleeping beauty's tower. As to the very rational question: Where did one find an oven big enough to bake that gingerbread house I have considered that (actually been reading up on construction of Sydney Opera House). I will not answer that now because I am not sure if I am going to write that into part 2 yet, but I already have notes on that . I am not sure when I will be re-posting the "fixed-up" story. I think the right time should be when I complete the entire thing and update them all at one go.

Now the Snippets: These are taken from my notes, so pardon the language. They may or may not appear in the final write-up, but well - hope its food for thought. But yeah, guess what that gleam in Phil's eyes that Max thought he saw was all about? Hmm - I think I am having formating issues here...

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Excerpts from various Newspapers: 

"... The local police and the FBI have concluded that the kidnapper was a copycat. Most of the victims have been rescued in a highly secret and efficient operation on Halloween dawn with only minor injuries. There was only one casualty. The younger son of nationally well-known PI, Fenton Hardy, was reported killed when the underground dungeon collapsed during the rescue mission..." Bayport Times, Nov 2.

"There would be a memorial service for Joseph Paul Hardy on Nov 8, 10am, at the Holy Trinity Church. Joseph is survived by his parents, Fenton and Laura Hardy, and his elder brother Frank Hardy.

"... The FBI had, under intense public pressure, reopened the 13 year old case where twelve of their best undercover agents were murdered presumably by a psychotic serial killer using special Service Service issued bullets..." Bayport Times, Nov 11.

"It would seemed that the Secret Service was implicated with the deaths of the twelve FBI undercover agents thirteen years ago... One has to consider the possibility that the Candyman was a mythical creation to deflect attention from..." New York Tabloid, Nov 13.

"The number of tourists to Fire Island has more than tripled over the last fortnight as news of the discovery of the infamous Arkenay's Sleeping Beauty Tower spreads. The West Fire Island is now filled with campers and treasure hunters trying to find the Arkenay's hidden family fortune in gold. No one had any idea how much that fortune might be worth. Dr. Pearson, a historian with New York University who studied the Arkenay family, estimated the hidden fortune to be worth anywhere between 20 to 60 million dollars in today's terms. All ferries and seaplanes charter service reported brisk business..." Fire Island Chronicles, Nov 18.

"Did the Secret Service resort to satanic experiments in the late 60s and 70s to create the perfect agent?" Conspiracy Central Online Blog, Nov 20.

Snippets of conversations:

"This is going to seriously hamper our ability to cover up now that we have all those over zealous treasure hunters swarming all over West Fire Island."

"We should have just killed that creature back then. But they had wanted to try to harness its abilities."

"We still have his sister. He won't do anything as long as we have his sister."

"You know he'd kill us all without a thought when he finds her, don't you?" shudders "And you DO remember how he kills, don't you?"

"Then we just have to make sure he never finds her."

"Why don't we just kill her? Then he'd never find her, and we don't have to waste effort and time hiding her."

"He knows she lives. That's why he had not come after us yet."

muttered curses "Except this time, he got the exposure he needed. We now have to deal with the public and with him. And, we're going to have Hardy on our necks too for supposed death of the younger son. And Hardy already got Maxwell Kendall on his side."

"You don't believe that kid's dead?"

snorts "The way Hardy is chasing this case? No. My guess is our Candyman got that kid to set Hardy onto us. We have to do something about both Hardy and also Kendall."

"We already have people working on removing Kendall from his post. But it have to be done slowly. And Kendall's proving to have the resistance of a cockroach. As for Hardy, we'll see if he have any preference between his elder and younger son."

"I am curious. I wonder why he took the kid. I mean, the last time he took Gray - the best of the lot. I would have thought he would have taken John Broadwick who's making first class detective at 31. Very impressive. Or even Eleonora Carlos, who's about to graduate top of her class from the Police Academy backed by a degree in Psychology. Both the Hardy kids are too young, though the elder would have been the logical choice..."

Looks up from the notes in his hand "That's why I am looking into young Joseph's background here."

"And?"

"That kid's a loose cannon. He should have been dead several times over. He survived two car bombs and..."

"What are you trying to say?"

"One thing our Candyman did not have on his side so far is luck. And I must say that young Joseph is one incredibly lucky kid. If you believe in such things, then, our Candyman chose to take with him a lucky loose cannon..."

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PK: I concede to losing the bet. LOL - it IS quite a task to try to get 5 reviews per chapter and 20 people to review. As of one week after the posting, minus what was previously agreed, I am quite a few short for the first bit and 2 short for the second bit. Nah - don't think its difficult to kill off Jolly - she's a little bit jinxed, I am starting to think. I will be careful in choosing my next pen-name. Will finish up existing stories, Partheios for Liz and possibly Manhattan for Bhar cos I think she'd like that And yup - ShadowRise is going well with the Hardy and Van Helsing descendents added to smooth the flow as you suggested, and I am plotting my next Star Wars 


	25. Official Epilogue

Nothing really new here - I just decided to touch up on this bit and make this the official Epilogue - so I can start on the second bit. Sorry I haven't been around for a while - but been having a rough time settling in. I hope to be able to start reading again soon. Can't wait to see what new stories are out there

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**In the Gingerbread House with Candyman**

By Jolly

EPILOGUE

Excerpts from various public media:

"... Most of the victims have been rescued in a highly secret and efficient operation on Halloween dawn with only minor injuries. There were three reported casualties. The younger son of nationally well-known PI, Fenton Hardy, and an FBI agent were reported killed when the underground dungeon collapsed during the rescue mission. The kidnapper was also believed to have perished during the dungeon collapse. The local police and the FBI have concluded that the kidnapper was a copycat..." _Bayport Times, Nov 1._

"There will be a memorial service for Joseph Paul Hardy on Nov 8, 10 a.m., at the Holy Trinity Church. Joseph is survived by his parents, Fenton and Laura Hardy, and his elder brother Frank Hardy." _Bayport Times, Nov 3._

"... The FBI had, under intense public pressure, reopened the 13-year-old case where twelve of their best undercover agents were murdered, presumably by a psychotic serial killer using special Secret Service issued bullets. The push was headed by the immediate families of the deceased agents. They have expressed their anger at what they perceive as a deliberate government cover-up…" _Bayport Times, Nov 11._

"It would seem that the Secret Service was implicated in the deaths of the twelve FBI undercover agents thirteen years ago... One has to consider the possibility that the Candyman was a mythical creation to deflect attention from_..." New York Tabloid, Nov 13._

"The number of tourists to Fire Island has more than tripled over the last fortnight as news of the discovery of the infamous Arkenay's Sleeping Beauty Tower spreads. The West Fire Island is now filled with campers and treasure hunters trying to find Arkenay's hidden family fortune in gold. No one has any idea how much that fortune might be worth. Dr. Pearson, a historian with New York University who studied the Arkenay family, estimated the hidden fortune to be worth anywhere between 20 to 60 million dollars in today's terms. All ferries and seaplane-charter services report brisk business..." _Fire Island Chronicles, Nov 18._

"Did the Secret Service resort to satanic experiments in the late 60s and 70s to create the perfect agent?" _Conspiracy Central Online Blog, Nov 20._

_oooooo_

In a little room in an unknown location at an unknown time, two Secret Service agents sat and stared at the newspapers clippings on their desks, and discussed their implications.

"All right, Marcus, this is seriously hampering our ability to cover up. We have all those over-zealous treasure hunters swarming all over West Fire Island, not to mention the media hounding the FBI and us about that 13-year-old case," the stockier built agent in his black suit stated in an irritated tone.

"I do not believe it is possible to hush up the entire incident like we did thirteen years ago, Karl. This time he got his exposure. What we can do now is to minimize damage by ways of misdirection," Marcus replied in a calm voice.

"We should have just killed that demon child back then. But they had wanted to try to harness its abilities," Karl groused.

"We still have his sister. He won't do anything as long as we have his sister," Marcus pointed out.

"You know he'll kill us all without a thought when he finds her, don't you?" Then he shuddered at an old memory. "And you DO remember HOW that little demon kills, don't you?"

"Then we just have to make sure he never finds her," Marcus stated in a matter of fact tone.

Karl stared at his long-time partner in disbelief. _How can he be so calm?_ Karl wondered, and threw out a suggestion. "Why don't we just kill her? Then he'd never find her, and he'll never know, and we don't have to waste effort and time hiding her."

"He knows she lives. That's why he hadn't come after us yet." Then Karl rubbed his temple a little tiredly. "Look, the only way for us now is forward…"

Karl muttered a number of curses under his breath. "Except this time, he got the exposure he needed. We now have to deal with the public, the media, and with him. And, we're going to have Hardy on our necks too for the supposed death of the younger son. Hardy already got Maxwell Kendall on his side."

"You don't believe that kid's dead?" Marcus asked.

Karl snorted. "The way Hardy is chasing this case? No. My guess is our Candyman got that kid to set Hardy onto us. We have to do something about Hardy and also Kendall. Both of them are too good to be easily bought off or distracted."

"We already have people working on removing Kendall from his post. But it has to be done slowly. And Kendall's proving to have the resilience of a cockroach. As for Hardy, we'll see if he has any preference between his elder and younger son." Marcus shrugged.

Karl leaned back into his chair with his hands placed comfortably behind his head before commenting on the stray thoughts running through his head. "I am curious. I wonder why he took the kid. I mean, the last time he took Gray – the best of the lot. I would have thought he would have taken John Broadwick, who's making first class detective at 31. That is a very impressive achievement. Or even Eleonora Carlos, who's about to graduate top of her class from the Police Academy backed by a degree in Psychology. Both the Hardy kids are too young, though the elder would have been the more logical choice..."

Marcus looked up from the notes in his hand. "That's why I am looking into young Joseph's background here."

"And?"

"That kid's a loose cannon. He should have been dead several times over. He survived two car bombs and—"

"What are you trying to say, Marcus?"

"One thing our Candyman did not have on his side so far is luck. And I must say that young Joseph is one incredibly lucky kid. If you believe in such things, then our Candyman chose to take with him a darn lucky and loose cannon ball..."

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End file.
